Murder, he wrote
by Carlis.B
Summary: Phoenix finds that he's in trouble - his salary and Trucy's isn't enough to support them AND pay rent - so he decides on a new career offered by deKiller that would make or break his life. Miles x Phoenix, drama llama, what ifs.
1. Lesson One : Debtors' prison

Disclaimer : I own nothing but the clothes on my back.

Summary : Remember the time when deKiller offered Phoenix to be his successor? Well, this is like a fanfic of the time between his adopting Trucy and re-meeting Shadi Enigmar. And yes, there will probably be loads of holes in the plot but...whatever, it's the fun the counts!

And : I'm sorry if the words are clumped and hard to read. Something's wrong with my html and um, newsflash, I can't figure it out. I suck that way.

* * *

**Lesson 1 : Debtors' prison.**

Phoenix looked at pile of mail-slash-bills sitting in front of him. The mail man had just dropped them off in front of his door, apparently a whole week late because he couldn't carry that much mail with him, and had only managed to carry all Phoenix and Trucy's mail today because it was a slow day at work. He had apologized profusely, and Phoenix had assured him that it was okay, because truthfully? It was okay.

Because there was no freaking way he could pay those bills anyway.

He sighed. Might as well get them over with anyway. He took up the first of the pile. Oh yeah, his credit card. Ripping the envelope apart, he ignored the red letters strewn over the paper in dire, life-threatening fonts and went straight at the list of bought items.

**Grey hoodie – 25 $** _(Well that was necessary. I mean, it's not he can walk around in his blue suit while working at the Hydeout, he'll look ridiculous.)_

**Assorted Magyke Stuff toys, Gramarye original limited edition signed poster – 128 $** _(Um okay. That was necessary too, because Trucy was down and needed some cheering up.)_

**Vintage '86 Red Wine – 25 $**_(Therapy, so it doesn't count.)_

**Vintage '86 Red Wine**

**Vintage '86 Red Wine**

**Steel Samurai Director's cut twin pack DVD – 55$ **_(Doesn't count. It was a discount item. When you buy discount items, you actually save a lot, better than say, buying it later when there's no discount.)_

**Nickel Samurai Season One – 120 $** (That was to compare with Steel Samurai, doesn't count either.)

**Hobo Sparkling Grape Juice – 12$ **(_Can't resist.)_

**Hobo Sparkling Grape Juice – 12$**

**Hobo Sparkling Grape Juice – 12$**

**Wine Red Couch (2) – 500$**_(Well, where were they supposed to sleep?)_

And the list went on and on. By the time he reached the end, Phoenix was sure of two things.

One, he was officially in debt.

And uh two? He's not going to get out of it any time soon.

The thing is, he just wasn't making enough. The poker doesn't pay bad, and Trucy was getting pretty decent money from working her magic tricks at the bar but it wasn't enough to support the both of them AND pay rent. And it's not like he had an arsenal of talent to ply his wares elsewhere. He did ART in college for god's sake. And if that's not one thing that doesn't pay, he sure doesn't know what is.

He rubbed his temple. Headache warning in 4...3...2...1... How the heck is he going to get that money?

_Bring!!_

"Aiyee!" Fingers accidentally stabbed his eyes. "Jesu Christo!"

The phone was ringing on Mia's old desk. Great. More debts. Maybe he should just announce himself bankrupt to get all the debtors off his back? It's not like he's going to be needing to buy any property after this whole mess.

"Hello, Wright Talent Agency."

"Good afternoon, Mr. Wright." Came the reply. It was smooth, exceedingly polite voice. Something about that voice send shivers down his spine for a reason.

"Um, yeah. I'm Wright. I mean, yeah, I'm Phoenix Wright. Who am I speaking to?"

"There is no need for you to know that, Mr. Wright." _Wow, deja vu._

"Excuse...me?"

"I am here to offer you a job. As a...successor, if you will."

He held his chin. This guy sound strangely familiar for some reason. That...That TONE that offer no discussion or opportunity for bickering. He was positive that he heard that vo---

"_Shelly deKiller?_" he asked, half wonderingly, half incredulously.

"That is my name, correct. It is good that you remember, Mr. Wright. I will not find myself needing to explain myself again."

"Wh-Why are you calling me? I-I mean, I didn't hire you or anything."

"Must I repeat myself Mr. Wright? I know you are lacking a stable income right now, and I am offering you a job with a... sufficient amount of pay. Do you decline?"

_His job was stable, thank you very much. It just didn't pay...much._

"Um, no. I mean, no, I don't decline." He answered. Best not to anger a professional assassin, after all. He wasn't interested in being plastered all over the obituary sections.

"Very good, Mr. Wright. Meet me at Elmer's, on . You know where that is, correct?"

He shook his head, then realized he couldn't seem him through the phone. "Sorry, I don't."

"It is insignificant. It is opposite Lordly Tailor. I will meet you there in half and hour, Mr Wright."

Shelly deKiller hung up. This day just keeps getting better and better. He rubbed his face, then pulled up his hoodie. Oh well, no sense in making assassins wait.

He groaned at the thought.

No sense at all.

* * *

He left a note on the table to explain his absence to Trucy, who was still at school and quickly took a bus down to Lordly Tailor. He had made sure he put up a pair of huge sunglasses that Trucy used for her magic tricks first before heading out. He wasn't keen on being recognized by Adrian Andrews or any of the plenitude of Lordly Tailor employees he met over the course of that case. Sympathy was nice, but that wasn't what he needed right now.

Elmer's, as it turned out was a smooth little bar tucked into the corner of, looking as though it stepped out of mid-40's, it looked like a specimen entirely carved out of a block of mahogany. It had class, though it definitely wasn't up to Edgeworth's taste. He smiled ruefully at the thought.

It was the middle of the day, and the only people in the bar was deKiller and the bartender, who was rubbing smudges off glasses with the disinterested air of someone who has seen to much and told too little.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Wright."

Phoenix took his seat opposite him, taking the opportunity to get a good look at deKiller.

He didn't looked much different from the last time they met, when he was posing as the butler to Matt Engarde and he was desperately trying to solve the whole mess with Juan Corrida's death. It didn't really helped things along either with the man opposite him right now kidnapping Maya and forcing him to defend Matt Engarde, his client. All things considered though, he didn't really thought badly of deKiller. The assassin had honour, that much was for sure, even if that honour was a little strange, in Phoenix's opinion.

He still had the trademark stitches that divided his face into half : That much at least wasn't going to be going anywhere anytime soon, but he wasn't in the bell boy uniform any more, obviously. Those black leather gloves remained though.

"What did you call me out for?"

"This is the third time I am repeating myself, Mr. Wright. If you make me repeat myself again, I am afraid I will have to inspect your self for hearing impairment." His tone sounded no different than it would if he had been discussing the weather. "I am here to offer your a job."

"As what? Some kind of mess-cleaner when you go around bulldozing people?"

"Interesting choice of words, but no, I am not."

"So what is it you want then? And god help me, if you're thinking of doing something to Trucy, then I assure you, you'll like me better when I was a radio transceiver away, deKiller," Phoenix snarled.

"Do not threaten me." His face remains calm and impassive, not even a single line marred that perfectly smooth mask of a face. "If I had wanted to put your daughter to her demise, Mr. Wright, I assure you I do not need your permission or aid in accomplishing the matter."

"Sorry," came the mumbled reply. "I'm just, kind of...New, to this whole father thing I guess." He rubbed his temple again. He seemed to be doing it a lot these days.

"No matter." deKiller leaned forward a little. "What I am offering you Mr. Wright, is a job, as the successor to the deKiller name."

_Huh, successor to him huh? That wasn't too hard---Wait, WHAT!?_

"Uh-Buh-Uh--" Phoenix's brain, always on the slow side, was having trouble COMPREHENDING. That was a joke right? He doesn't look like he's telling a joke –(_But then again, when does he look like he's joking?)_ -- but there was NO WAY that can be true.

_I mean, no one ask people to be assassins just like that! Come on!_

"That's, you're – I mean, you're joking right? That's—that's just a joke right?"

"I assure you, Mr. Wright, I am not in the habit of cracking jokes of that nature." _Or any at all._

"But WHY? I'm not even physically fit! I can't climb a wall, I can't shoot someone , HELL, I can't even throw darts accurately, much less shurikens or whatever thingamajig you use."

"You are thinking of ninjas. We, that is to say deKillers, do not resort to things such as shooting stars to get our job done."

"It doesn't change the fact that there must had been a reason for you to ask me – not that I would accept."

"It is simple. During our trial, I realized that I am after all, getting on in years." Really, he didn't look a day over _forty-five_. "And I need an heir to the deKiller name whom I can train before I am incapable of doing so. And I remembered the interested sounding lawyer and decided to check up on you."

_What the HELL?? Why is everyone determined to interpret all his "No"s as "Yes"?_

"Now, as it is, were you still a lawyer I would not request this of you. After all, I would not want you contradict your vow to the court."

_Wow, thanks for the careful consideration. Paper cranes?_

"But you have, I have heard, been...Discharged. And that your situation is most unbecoming. That is why I have chosen to make this offer, because I'm sure you understand, this job would be the cure for all your dilemmas. My...Work pays quite well after all."

_Okay. He won't even begin to count how many ways that is wrong. "Your...Work..." happen to be to snuff out the candle of life of poor, unknowing, innocent people. Okay, well maybe not so poor or innocent, but they definitely didn't know did they? And okay, he can't pay his bills, and he can barely afford their groceries, and yeah, if he doesn't pay his rent sometime between um, right now and the next second, he's SO evicted, but that doesn't mean he's going to resort to a life of crime! He's not that desperate!_

"I'm sorry, that was a really nice offer of yours, Mr. deKiller, but I really can't accept."

"It is alright. I did not expect you to come around to my way of thinking immediately. You can contact me with this number when you have agreed." He slide a smart looking contact card over the wooden surface and got up and leave.

"_When" huh?_

* * *

When his bus dropped him off and he walked the dozen or so blocks back to the office he shared with Trucy, it was already almost two hours after he left. _Trucy would be back_, he realised. He found himself smiling at the notion, for some reason. Yes, life has gotten him down lately - finding out what he worked half his life away for is forever taken from him is a bitter pill to swallow. Knowing that it was someone else's fault was even more bitter. But he had Trucy now, and he was a daddy. _A daddy. _He can't seem to stop smiling.

That smile slipped off his face, however, when he arrived on their floor.

Trucy was obviously bickering with their landlord over something heatedly.

"Daddy!" she ran over to him at once and dragged him over to where the landlord was. His face was stern, and Phoenix recognized determination when he saw it.

"This strange man said we're not allowed to stay here anymore unless we pay the rent!"

He looked helplessly at said man, and shrugged, but it came out more like a nervous twitch in his shoulder.

"Daddy?"

He looked at Trucy, who was looking up at him. She was obviously confused, not to mention one heck of upset over the fact that all her magic tools are locked up in the office. His gut twisted a little.

"Excuse me, I have a call to make."

He took out the card with the pink shell imprinted on it and walked off to find the nearest payphone.


	2. Lesson Two : Point blank

Note : I know precisely zero words in German, except maybe the ones Klavier used. Anything I use is translated by Google, so if something sounds strange, wrong, or pornified, it's Google's fault. (Isn't that always the case? The bigger you are, the easier it is to hit you with sludge.)

Note 2 : Also, I know it was implied that Godot will be executed, but this is law. It's malleable.

* * *

**  
Lesson 2 : Point blank**

Phoenix leveled the gun. Take a deep breath. It'll hit this time, he was sure of it.

Maybe.

The rifle jerked with the force of the shot, a resounding crack filling the air as the bullet zoomed straight at the target....

And hit the tree next to it.

_Damn!_

"Uh...Haha..." Phoenix looked over at where deKiller was standing with a stony look on his stony face. He rubbed the back of his neck with a sheepish expression. "I'm...sorry?"

DeKiller looked at him. He looked back. Then he sighed and raised the rifle, resuming his training.

This was the second month after he called deKiller, barely half an hour after he had bluntly rejected the offer, and rescinded his rejection. DeKiller had been enthusiastic (or as enthusiastic as he could possibly be anyway) and had made good on his word, and paid all their piled up rent, as well as that month's rent, and the two months since, and all Phoenix had to do, he promised, was to be his successor.

_Successor...._

The word echoed ominously in his head, even after having such a long time to come to terms with it. It wasn't that he had trouble believing the outlandish, au contraire, he had his fair share of outlandish moments before. Hell, he probably caused some of them. It's just that the idea that he, that is to say Phoenix Wright, ex-lawyer, sort of stick-in-the-mud, and secret Edgeworth admirer, was now officially a hitman-for-hire was a bit hard to digest.

It didn't really helped things along either that Trucy had practically squeal with delight at the idea, and not you know, be scared, sickened, disgusted, angry, or even worried like the rest of humanity probably would be if they were told their father had just signed himself into contractual murder. It was nice that she wasn't upset, just that uh...It might have been better for his heart if she had acted more surprised? He raised a hand to scratch his head.

"Mr. Wright!" boomed a voice.

"Eek!"

"Can I know WHY you're looking at the target with that sheepish look on your face? I have an appointment at 4 today, do not make me miss it. Proceed! " DeKiller barked.

Phoenix sighed again and took another shot at the target board. It still hit the tree, but he thought it was about two inches closer to the board. He smiled with satisfaction. His worries for Trucy's mental health was temporarily gone.

_Maybe shooting things for a living isn't as bad as it sounds after all. At the very least, it's good for my blood pressure.  
_

_

* * *

_

"Unsagbar blöd! What do you mean you don't know?" Edgeworth shouted into the phone. He was holding it so tightly that the cord was stretched to the maximum, and the plastic was making strange, creaking sounds.

"_That's the thing sir! I was looking sir, really really looking! My eyes were feeled – uh peeled sir! But then I looked to side a little 'cuz you know there was this guy who was rushing across the road and wasn't paying attention to the lights so I yelled at him, and then I looked back and he was gone! Just like that!"_ Gumshoe wailed from the other side of the world. "_Please don't cut my salary again, sir!"_

"If you don't want your salary cut, then you should aspire to greater ideals of competence! Now, do you remember where was it that he disappeared at?"

_"I dunno. He was opposite the road, near this payphone."_

"I know, I know," his tone was clipped and impatient. "But WHERE was that payphone? On his street? On the next? Near the courthouse? Where?"

_"It was outside the airport, sir."_

"Airport? Why was he at the airport?"

_"Um, maybe he wants to go on vacation?"_ Edgeworth could hear Gumshoe scratching his head in the phone. Or maybe that

was his brain smoking from overworking?

"He just lost his job, why would he be going on vacation? For one thing, the only place he could afford to go to is probably the bottom of the sea, and for another, why now? Shouldn't he be trying to stabilize his life, not frolic around with his money like that?" He pondered aloud. "What about that girl he adopted, was she taken along?"

_"Um, no sir. She was put under the care of Mr. Godot."_

"Go...dot? Wasn't that guy on death row?"

_"No sir, he pleaded guilty by reason of insanity and just got released from the ward a week ago."_

"I see. Still that is quite a strange thing for Phoenix to do, to run off like that so soon after adopting Trucy. Knowing him, I would have expected him to stick around to take care of her." He tapped his head with a pen. It really was strange, that Phoenix would leave the country like that. Why would he do that? And more precisely how? The last time he did a subtle little prodding at his account, he had, he was sorry to say, little enough to warrant him rights to a public soup kitchen. He decided he'll look into it.

In the meantime though...

"Speaking of which, detective, did you send over the uh...evidence that I told you to?"

The "evidence" in question was actually a giant box of Steel Samurai paraphernalia, but the good detective doesn't need to know that.

_"Um, no sir. I opened it to check and it turned out it got mixed up with some child's stuff and sent it to the orphanage. I'm still looking for the ev_---"

"WHAT!??!?!?" He jumped up so fast that the phone cord snapped right into two. "Detective? Detective!? I DEMAND THAT YOU GET ALL MY THINGS BACK RIGHT NO—HELLO!? _HELLO!??_"

* * *

Three phone calls and six e-mails later, Edgeworth was reclining in his office with a deeply suspicious mind. The things Phoenix was doing, seen both logically and from Edgeworth's perspective told him one thing : Something wasn't right.

**Premise One** : Phoenix is currently in Germany, to be precise, in Oberammergau. There is no way in heck he could afford to go there, unless he crawled into a ship and stowaway himself to Germany, whereupon he would either die of starvation, or of vanity, because there won't be hair cream on board.

**Premise Two** : He left his newly adopted daughter back with Godot, who acquitted or not, was still a criminal, not to mention a murderer, as well as an obsessive coffee drinker. Granted his daughter is no shy wilting flower, but knowing Phoenix and how worried he was when Maya was kidnapped, he was pretty sure he wouldn't just leave his daughter there for no valid reason.

**Conclusion** : Something was up.

It was short, simple, and the kind of conclusion he liked to reach, because he can then proceed and spend three hours plotting his every move. But first. He booked a ticket back to Los Angeles. It was time to pay Wright's "daughter" a visit.

* * *

Phoenix looked at the target. One whole week of endlessly hearing his eardrum rupture from the proximity of the bang, and he was no closer than he was shooting the target's head. Granted, he could at least _hit_ the man-shaped board now, but that wasn't really much to brag about, considering that he saw Shelly deKiller putting three consecutive bullets into the board's head.

"Mr. Wright." His voice was tinged with the slightest hint of exasperation. Phoenix was suddenly plagued with all sorts of conflicting emotions. Anger at himself because he couldn't even do something like this right. Hopeful because maybe deKiller would realize that he couldn't shoot a cow at point blank to save his life, and just a little touch of fear at the thought of deKiller demanding some sort of retribution for wasting his time.

"....just pretend it is the man who gave that forged evidence to you, yes? Shoot him, Mr. Wright."

He snapped out of his daydream of playing poker again for a little while, and looked at the target again. _The man who did this to him..._

He raised the rifle and squinted at the target.

_...Who turned his life upside down..._

He aimed it right at the head.

_...inside out..._

Took aim.

_...and took away his badge._

_**BANG!!**_

Birds gave a startled squawk and flew in all directions to get away from the field. Phoenix lowered his smoking rifle and smiled admiringly at the similar smoking hole in the target's head. That wasn't too bad...

He imagined a similar hole in that forger's head and his smile became wider.

_...Not bad at all._


	3. Lesson Three : Disappearing Act

Note : Looks like this chapter is going to be a bit longer. Bear with me, yes?

Note 2 : I spell some words according to the British spelling because I'm Malaysian, and the syllabus here is British. And yes, I refuse to spellcheck these because they're not wrong. Different is not wrong.

* * *

**Lesson 3 : Disappearing Act**

Miles Edgeworth was not pleased. This was evident from the way he was gloomily staring out of his window, stirring a cup of quickly cooling tea, and the way he was not responding to present stimuli, even one as loud as Detective Gumshoe.

"Um, sir?" came Gumshoe's hesitant address.

No answer. Edgeworth was like that when he was angry, thought Gumshoe. All he did was stare at the window with that grimace-slash-sulk and ignore you until he's ready to re-enter civilization.

Gumshoe took a moment to zoom out a little on civilization too, taking in how fast Mr. Edgeworth had managed to get his old apartment back within weeks of returning to Los Angeles - He had touched down barely a few minutes before he secured the apartment from his landlord and got all his belongings from Germany moved into the quaint penthouse situated in one of the more fashionable blocks of Los Angeles. Certainly, it was a bit dusty – apparently the person who rented it wasn't quite as much a hypochondriac as Mr. Edgeworth, but all his books were still neatly arranged on the huge mahogany shelves, and the burgundy draperies were still there.

Obviously, Mr. Edgeworth still had a lot of influence in this country, whether or not his person was still here.

"Um, sir?" he tried again. Never let it be said that he never tried, because not trying, as detective Gumshoe have come to realized, seem more hazardous to his salary than trying and not succeeding.

"Mr. Edgeworth? " Maybe he should knock on the desk to get his attention? But ooh, he didn't want to know what would happen to his salary if he got caught damaging Edgeworth's desk. The last time he scratched the desk, he couldn't even afford ramen. Maybe he could gently, gently, gently, prod his shoulder?

He reached out a tentative hand to call Edgeworth.

Edgeworth swiveled around to face him. "What? What is it that you wan--. Oh, it's you. Gumshoe." He sighed a little, as if burdened with a lot of things all of a sudden. "Have you gotten me the report I wanted?"

"Yes sir! I got the address right here, as well as everything she's done for the pass two week!" Gumshoe raised his hand in a salute. Edgeworth sipped his tea daintily and raised an eyebrow.

"You sound like a stalker Gumshoe, but do proceed."

"Well, as far as I can see, she seems to be doing okay. She goes to school everyday and goes home with Godot. Then after that they order take-out or go to the grocer's opposite for lunch and then return home for a short while. At around 8 at night, Trucy will head to the Wonder Bar to perform her magic tricks while Godot got himself a job at the bar as a bartender."

"Nothing seems to be wrong sir, and she looks very cheerful to me. There hasn't been any reports of breakdown or any such things at school, and all her teachers said that she seems well, a little misbehaved, but perfectly normal for her."

"I see. Has there been any report of her having said anything in relation to her father?"

"Well I asked the lady-boss of the bar see, but she wouldn't tell me."

"And did you attempt to save your salary by coaxing her into it?" Edgeworth asked with a hint of warning in his voice. Gumshoe gulped.

"Um, see-- she said she didn't trust me s-so I got Maggey to ask her and it worked 'cuz she told her that Trucy said her daddy is on vacation in Europe but that's all because she said Trucy didn't say anything else other than that Godot is going to be her temporary guardian."

That didn't tell him much. Edgeworth scowled at his tea.

"Do you want me to ask her again, sir?"

"It's alright. If that is what Trucy told her, then she will have nothing more to add to it. No, I suggest we go right at the source." Edgeworth sipped his tea and resumed staring at the window and the gray skies outside.

"That's right sir! We'll go right at the sauce! Only..." He scratched his head. "What kind of sauce is it?"

Edgeworth sighed, and Gumshoe had a sudden, startling vision of instant ramen dancing a twiggly sort of dance away from him.

* * *

Edgeworth pulled up his red sports car next to the bar and with a smooth move, depositing the car into a parking slot backwards without a single glance.

He got out of his old car (his new, shiny blue one being in Germany, and him quite reluctant to ship his car all the way here when this might all be just a hocus-pocus trip.) and resisted the urge to sight at how...Not nice the place looked. He couldn't think of a more appropriate word. The place itself wasn't really that bad, at least it was clean, and it wasn't particularly seedy or dirty, or even the kind gangs curl up in. It was just that it was so....Rowdy. People weren't very quiet in there, if all the shouting his ears were picking up were any indication.

Still, duty calls. He can't have Phoenix wandering around doing god knows what with god knows who at god knows where, he felt a sort of...responsibility for him, considering that the reason the man became a lawyer in the first place was to meet him again.

_So onwards men! For love!_

He sighed.

The first thing that blasted at him was the sheer VOLUME of the crowd in the Wonder Bar. Whether they were jubilant or outraged, Miles couldn't tell because all the voices were shouting at the top of their lungs and no word of human language seem to register on Miles' brain, and Miles had a lot of languages registered in his brain indeed. What he did know though was that they were cheering for something, and they weren't shy in making whatever they were feeling known – There were tables being pounded left right and center, and that, mixed with the sheer ferocity of the sound, rendered the place so noisy it was almost quiet.

He walk to the slightly more vacated bar and took a seat. There was no point in trying to fight the crowd to get to Trucy, who was in here...Somewhere. He might as well waited until her show was over. In the mean time, he would have a drink – assuming there was anything in this pub worth drinking – and watched the show.

"Something to wet your throat and get that voice ready to cheer, amigo?"

The sight shocked Miles. Godot – or Diego Armando, as it was revealed – was behind the bar, wiping the glasses with a ketchup-covered rag. He didn't look very different from the last time Miles happened to meet him, which was during that case with Wright's ex-demon-- Uh, girlfriend. The only thing missing was that suit of his, replaced by the standard waiter's outfit – white shirts and black vests. Even the mask was still hanging off his face, which he found a tad creepy, because the place was dark and it radiated a dark, ominous sort of light.

"Diego Armando, I believe we were never formally introduced. Miles Edgeworth." He stuck out a hand to shake. Normally, he wouldn't be quite so social, but you never know, he may be able to worm something out of him yet.

"Life's too short to remember names, yeah? All you have to is remember the sea of masses out there, and you know that not one of them have a name remembered, and you know how pointless it is to give names." Armando returned to wiping the glass with the filthy rag. "So, make it simple, Beigey, what do you want for a drink?"

_How about um, Please-remember-my-name-correctly?_

"A martini." He stared at the cup Godot was holding, wondering how much ketchup had he managed to wipe onto the glass, his face scrunched up in disgust. Well, at the very least he wouldn't have to pay extra to have it taste like a Bloody Mary too. Another sigh.

He rubbed his temple. At the rate he was going, it wouldn't be long before he experience middle age. _Damn that man!_ Why did he have to go and pull something like this and have him all huffed up and worried? When he find out what he's up to, he was going to give him a piece of his mind. At present however, he was a little too worried about whether or not a depressed, suicidal Phoenix was wandering around Europe, hopping trains like a hobo to be appropriately angered...

Wild cheers erupted from the crowd, startling him out of his reverie. Turning around, he saw the cause of the cheering – A young girl, around eight or nine years of age dressed in a cape was bowing on-stage, twirling a cane around like a professional magician.

"Thank you! Thank you everyone, for coming to my performance tonight! I'm so grateful! Really! Oh, I could cry tears of happiness!" She mocked sobbed, and pulled out a huge red handkerchief dyed with patterns of diamonds and sneezed into it-- _And would you look at that!_ Colourful yellow birds of some species Miles couldn't identify burst out from under the cloth, sending the crowd into a frenzy. Even Miles couldn't help smiling at the gusto with which the young Wright was rapidly making things disappear with her cane.

_At least it won't be boring waiting for the show to be over,_ he thought. He should have guessed though, that someone Phoenix Wright adopted couldn't be that different from him – She had the kind of cheer in her that made it hard for you to resist her charm, even when you know what she was doing was an illusion – just like father.

He stirred the martini, the ketchup stains forgotten.

* * *

When Trucy pulled a disappearing act to mark that the show was over, Miles didn't know if the crowds were happy or distraught. He observed the crowd filing out of the bar with the proprietress shooing them out with their long faces and mutters that the show was too short. Distraught, he decided, as the door slammed shut behind them with a sort of air of finality, and he was too – A little sad that such a cheerful performance had come to an end. Trucy Wright was definitely a born-performer, he decided.

He wasted no time making a hurried getaway to the performer's little room backstage, not wanting to be shooed out by the clucking woman. The room was a little one, hidden beside the storeroom with a bland sort of interior – Gray furniture, gray cushions – that sort of thing. Yet he could see that Trucy had obviously made her mark on the place, it was filled to the brim with colouful flowers and stuffed rabbits and magic hats. These were strewn all over the place – On the make up table there were five dolls itself – on the floor, on the coffee table, and even on the piano there. It was impressive. Mess was obviously her middle name too.

"Trucy Wright?" He called out at the small figure packing up her things into a violin case.

"Oh!" She gasped, knocking over a doll. "Sorry, but I don't do autographs anymore since that time with the whole brawl thing. I'm afraid I can't give you want even if you beg." She bobbed her head with an apologetic smile.

_Brawl? What kind of fandom is this girl nurturing?_

"Actually--"

"Oh! I know! You're not here to apply to be my apprentice are you? Because I'm not allowed to have any until I'm 21."

"No, that's not why I --"

" But you can have a signed rabbit! I'll even throw in a miniature of at a discounted price of 25 $ for you because you're such a faithful fan!"

"Will you please listen to me!?" He bellowed. Apparently, the things she inherited didn't just end at the performer's talent, she inherited that flighty, nonsensical, babbling way of Wright's too.

"I'm not here as a fan of yours. I'm here to ask you some questions." She looked at him with a frown now, her shoulders squared - automatically going on the defensive at the mention of "questions"

"Questions about what? I told you I can't tell you any of my trade secrets."

"Not about that, about your father." Miles grated out.

"Huh." She mumbled.

There was a long silence in which she seems unsure whether or not to continue the conversation when the proprietress poked her head in. "Did something happen? I heard shouting." She narrowed her eyes at Edgeworth. "You're not giving the young lady any trouble are you?"

Miles opened his mouth to retort, but Trucy beat him to it. "It's okay, Mrs. Orange. He's just a friend of daddy's, I'll be fine." She gestured at the woman to close the door when she leaved.

"So, what do you want to know about daddy?" She asked, all business now.

"I want to know what he's doing in Germany."

"Is that where he is? I don't know anything about that." She cocked her head to one side and looked at him.

"He is. He's gone to a village in Germany, with money he's not suppose to have. And I want to know what he's doing there." He swallowed as a lump rise in his throat at the notion at what kind of trouble a depressed Phoenix could get into. When he looked back at her, she was looking at him oddly.

"Why? I'm not saying I know anything, but if I did, why should I tell you? And why would you care about daddy?"

How to answer that? He let out a short bark of bitter laughter inside. Well isn't that a question that begs to be answered? Why did he care what Wright did after the whole disbarment incident? He was no longer an attorney, and as far as that goes in Miles Edgeworth's book, it meant that he was worse than dead to him – He was useless. Still, he couldn't shake that nagging feeling of worry every time the thought of Phoenix, lost without a goal to head towards after the badge he was so proud of (He never really understood why he kept flashing it to everyone he met.) got taken away from him. He thought for a long while.

"Because...I...Owe him a favour from a long time ago. You could say he saved my life. And he's a friend of mine, sort of, and I'm worried for him."

She gave him that odd look again, the one that seemed as if it pierced right into his soul.

"Okay, you don't seem to be lying, I'll tell you what he's doing there."

_Wooooosh._ The air seemed to be knocked out of him. He was suddenly nervous at the prospect of KNOWING, because it meant that if it was something unsatisfactory, he would have to do something about it. Have to meet Phoenix. Have to face him knowing that he wasn't there to give him support when he was facing his trial and he knew that Phoenix would see that as a betrayal.

Armando poked his head into the room. "You ready to go, kitten?"

"Just a moment, uncle Diego." She nodded at him, and he left. Then she looked at Miles and pulled out a card with Shelly deKiller's signature shell on it and his insides turned cold. Then she brought it out of the bad lighting, and he saw that it was a blue shell, and his heart skipped ten beats.


	4. Lesson Four :Sitting Ducks

Note : I suck at action plots. All I ever read is stories of pedophiles and courtroom battles. So ignore the crappy action-movie bits. Pretend you're Godot when you read those parts, and pretend the words are red. Also, I figured out the html thing.

Note 2: Also, if you think I'm oc-ing Phoenix into not having a guilty conscience - well okay, that's true - but it's also human nature to deny things that are a bit too large for our brain to process. Like when you feel way too depressed or guilty about something, sometimes you'll just shut down that feeling to justify what you're doing, or else you'll go crazy.

* * *

**Lesson 4 : Sitting ducks.**

Three months into training and Phoenix was over all his qualms about murder and guilt and all that sort of nonsense. Even his nightmares of the judge banging his gavel and pronouncing in a loud, sonorous, voice that he was guilty ceased – In fact, he didn't even feel all that guilty anymore, or even wrong about what he was doing for a living.

This was caused by two factor, as Phoenix have come to realized after mulling it over for some time. The first was obviously deKiller. It was hard to feel guilty around that guy, it was hard to feel anything at all for the matter, when the man was constantly around him with an expressionless face. He felt nothing, he LOOKED like he felt nothing and if he did feel any sort of remorse for his work he wasn't showing it on that face of his. Among his many lectures directed at Phoenix, there wasn't once, he realized a hint of any sort of regret for what he did. If anything it was as if he felt that it was an honourable sort of thing. You pay the money and he shot the person, it's business. Just like how people shut other people's business down everyday and no one said a thing about it. That sort of influence was rubbing off him.

And factor number two was well...After taking down two targets – simple ones that deKiller had decided to delegate to him – (It really didn't help Phoenix's ego that he advertised him as an amateur who may or may not botch up the plan.) he decided that the world was honestly better off without these people anyway. Maybe it was some kind of complex psychology mind game that deKiller was playing with him, assigning targets that he knew Phoenix wouldn't care for, but either way these people reminded him of vonKarma a little too much. They weren't as civilized as he was, of course, mob division heads generally wasn't, but that was where the dissimilarities end. They were all ruthless men, people who would bulldoze over people for the sake of hearing the sound of people going_ squelch squelch squelch _under them.

_Okay, that was gross. I disgust myself sometimes._

He opened his eyes and look up at the ceiling, registering briefly the sound of the ceiling fan going rat-a-tat-tat, the only sound other than that of the waking birds outside at five in the morning. He threw an arm over his head. He wanted some time to be lazy today, to reflect.

When did he start thinking it was okay to kill people for money anyway? Was it when he found out that murder really isn't all that it was made out to be? Experiences in court had drilled into him that murder was a messy business. You leave behind upset families, you leave behind messes for the police to waste their time on, you get people accused of the crime you commit, and don't forget, he thought, rookie defense attorneys puzzling over the pieces you left behind, and also... there are people like Edgeworth who lost practically everything they had to one gunshot. But somehow, when you were on the other side of the gun- the shooter's side – things like repercussions and consciences get left behind. Or maybe it was earlier than that? When he saw Trucy nearly in tears when she wasn't allowed into their office-turn-apartment to retrieve her magic tricks?

He sighed._ God_, the things he would -people would- do for money.

Rolling off the bed, he stood and stretched himself before going into the bathroom to wash himself. The man in the mirror looked back at him, blurry-eyed, yet somehow still looking sharp – in an entirely different context. He spiked his hair with some gel, then grinned at his reflection. Just because he was a criminal doesn't mean he have to look bad being it.

As he jogged down the stairs, his phone rang. "Hello? Wright speaking."

_"Daddy?_" came a chirpy voice. Yeap, that was his girl alright.

"Hey there Trucy. Is something up?"

_"Nope, I just wanted to call you to talk a bit. You know we hadn't had much time to talk since you started that whole thing."_

"Haha, yeah." He rubbed his nose a little. "But hey—wait a second. Isn't it like," He did some quick calculations " -eight at night there? Aren't you preparing for your show?"

_"Yeah, but today I took the day off. 'Cuz- **I'M COMING I'M COMING!** - I had lots of backup projects and I um, needed to look up something."_

"Hmm? Look up what?"

_"Well the thing is daddy, do you know someone called Mr. Edgeworth?"_

"Edgeworth?" he repeated cautiously. That was the last name he would expect Trucy to mention. "Yes...He was a friend of mine. Why?"

_"He came the other day after my show, and he wanted to know what you were doing in Europe."_

"He knows I'm in Europe?"

_"Yeah, he even knows you're in Oberammergau and everything. He wanted to know why you went there."_

"I see." He stared at the cream-coloured walls of little two-storey cottage with a faraway look. Why would Edgeworth know where he was to that detail? Was he keeping an eye on him, and hadn't just left him for death like he had assumed. "Did you tell him?"

A pause.

_"Yeah, I did. I'm sorry daddy."_

"It's okay."

_"No, I really am sorry – I know you told me not to tell anyone, but he really did looked worried and I thought well, if he was really a friend of yours and he was just worried it'll be okay you know, for me to tell him."_ Trucy sounded really upset to him.

"It's alright, Trucy, it really is. It doesn't mean you're allowed to just spread it out like that, but since it's just Edgeworth it'll be fine."_ I think_. He reassured her a little more, then they talked over idle things in life, and he amused her with a story of a traveling band of German performers, then he hung up.

Okay, what was that all about? He thought Edgeworth had move on after the whole Iris incident. He returned to Germany barely a week after the case, leaving, as usual nothing more than a goodbye note. In this case, it was an e-mail, but he refused to go into details. Leaving is leaving, end of story. He didn't even bothered to wait around and hear out Phoenix's explanation that he really wasn't interested in iris any more, despite how worked up he was over the case – and he didn't appreciate Edgeworth being all high and mighty and leaving because "it was the right thing to do."

He was still chewing on it over breakfast, when deKiller came back to the cottage and dumped a big bag of tools onto the doorstep, dusting his gloves off and straightening his suit.

"Hey." Phoenix muttered, prodding the German newspaper he couldn't understand, but was still delivered to the house anyway. "Went well?"

"Nothing more than the usual." DeKiller picked up the newspaper he was abusing and read it while stirring a coffee. "Oh yes." He slide a piece of paper over to Phoenix. On it was a lot of words, in very fine print, which Phoenix recognized without even looking at it – A contract.

"A request for you," he said simply.

Phoenix grunted. He couldn't even be bothered to look up from his diner dash.

* * *

4 more jobs, and Phoenix realized that he was numb. Numb inside and outside. He didn't even really care about what or who or how his target was. He just arranged an opportune moment, then took them out however he saw fit. At least it was mind-challenging, he thought. A bit jadedly. It could be worse, he could have been offered a really high-paying job as a toilet cleaner, THEN his brain cells would truly be dead.

It was worth it though. At least, he kept telling himself. It was worth it, it was okay, because when he returned to L.A and bought Trucy that life-sized stuffed rabbit she's been pining for, her smile had made everything alright. It was dazzling, her happiness – So much so that Phoenix even felt a little envious of her, for being happy. Then he would shake his head, and laugh it off, and pretend that blasphemous thought never occurred to him and buried it deeper. It was okay. It was worth it.

If he kept telling himself that, maybe it really would be.

* * *

For his tenth job, deKiller had something prepared for him. He unveiled it not unlike a proud father unveiling a brand spanking new bike to his son, and showed it to Phoenix with more enthusiasm than he had ever seen him with. Phoenix had responded rather stonily.

It seemed lately that deKiller was becoming more and more cheerful -perhaps more at the prospect that soon he may be able to retire than that of him having found a successor- and with every ounce of cheerfulness that seeped into Shelly, it seemed as much cheerfulness seeped OUT of Phoenix. He found that he was having trouble feeling anything with the amount of justification he was doing. And that he was becoming rather stone-faced.

Maybe he'll get stitches in the middle of his face too, he wondered where you can get some.

Still it wasn't an unkind gift, even if the effect it left on him was so. It was a card – a similar one to the one he had sent to Trucy, since that was a prototype of this one. It was the exact same thing as Shelly deKiller's except his shell was blue instead of pink. He took it up and examined it, a thought struck him. Maybe that was what the shell meant. Something you crawl into to pretend what you're doing is right.

That's enough, he admonished himself. Guilt trips were meaningless. He didn't have those anymore. He pocketed the cards and nodded at deKiller- He should probably start calling the man Shelly instead. After all, soon "deKiller" would be something they shared.

* * *

His tenth job, as it turned out, was to murder a highly reputable and commended prosecutor in Berlin, who went by the name Everett M. Voltaire. If it had been assigned to him a couple of months ago, doubtless he would protest. Murdering a mob boss who murdered people anyway was one – at least he could justify it by telling himself that he was some kind of defender of justice – murdering a prosecutor was quite another thing altogether. Now however, all he felt was a vague sort of cynical pang over whether it could be someone related to the vonKarmas.

Still, a job was a job. People cleaning septic tanks don't like their jobs either, so why would his be an exception? So he gathered himself a plan – Everett Voltaire's office was on the 12th floor. He stayed until late at night working (reminds him of someone he knows, he chuckled.) in his office AND – and this was quite a fortunate piece of AND -, there was a ventilation system running pass his office – meaning there would be a large maintenance pipe right above his office, complete with a covered up port in his office's roof.

It was too good to be true : he wouldn't even have to break into anything or put anyone to sleep.

* * *

When the time came he took last glance at the request, which was from some rival prosecutor who hated this Everett's guts because ever since he arrived in the court system here,he had taken all the spotlight, and all the media coverage off him. It was a sorry story, but it was also a typical story, so with one last check to make sure he didn't make any mistakes, he burned the paper and flushed the ashes away.

Then he got out of the motel he was renting and headed towards the sky-scraping prosecutor's office opposite the street.

He went in a maintenance worker's uniform, armed with a toolbox filled with screwdrivers, spanners and if anyone bothered to investigate, a handgun. He had a "friend" of deKiller's hacked into Ventilator and Co.'s e-mail and send an e-mail to the receptionist telling her that there would be a scheduled maintenance of the pipes that day, she didn't even blinked an eye when he flashed his fake ID and started climbing into the 12th floor pipe.

As he started sliding up the smooth metal surface, he went over the last vestige of his plan : It was a simple one. Get himself entry into the ventilation system, crawl and climb his way to desired office, drop in and shot him with the loudest handgun he could get his hands on. Then the other person in the building, being the receptionist would surely hear the sound, as the whole building was empty except for the both of them, and she would hurry up to see if everything was alright with Everett, while he, that is to say Phoenix, would leave a card behind and make a getaway right behind her back without being detected.

_Flawless. I need a medal for this. _He couldn't help grinning despite himself.

The building was so silent at night that the pipe fairly vibrated with the noise coming from outside. In that kind of silence – silence itself seems like the loudest noise, going_ wooooo _in his ears.

And then he arrived at the office and he stopped thinking about how his eardrums might rupture and started thinking about the target itself. He wondered how he was like, in the way a normal person would wander how the pen-pal they never met looked like. Would he be a ruthless looking old man like Manfred vonKarma? Or would he looked like Miles? If it was the latter, he didn't think he could pull the trigger. He took out the gun and made sure it was completely loaded in case he needed to shoot more people to get away

"...the file is incomplete. I thought I told you to send me the whole thing?"

He was directly above the port now, and he could see the office from the railing of the lid. Thin light filtered through from the room to him.

"....Yes, yes, the whole thing. And speaking of which, did you..."

Everett's voice sounded extremely familiar, very like a voice that he was sure he had heard many times before...

"...Do you hate salary or something?...Of course I know I'm right!"

And just like that, it clicked into his head who that man down there was. He had heard that voice shouting his name across the courtroom so many times he was momentarily astounded that he could ever have confused that voice for anyone but _HIS – _and then that surprise turned into a daze and he leaned forward a little on the rail to get a better look at the man, squinting in the bad light, trying to make out the features on his face...

The port lid abruptly gave way to Phoenix's weight and fell off, and Phoenix, in his dazed state could do little more than to hang onto the side when he fell forward, his other arm flailing madly to stop himself from slipping anymore. Then the arm hanging onto the side slipped too, and he fell 8 feet down onto the burgundy-carpeted surface on his back.

He groaned and opened his eyes a little to judge the situation. Miles was looking at him with a stunned expression.

Then his gun, the one hanging off the edge up there fell and hit him on his face, and Miles' incredulous expression went up another notch.

There was no salvation for him, he was positive. When this was over, Miles would put him in jail for the rest of his life and have him hanged with cravats.

So he looked up at the fluffy, frilly prosecutor and said...

"_Tea?"_

* * *

Note : Yes Edgeworth is fluffy! Hugs!


	5. Lesson Five : An ugly word

Note : This started out as a humour thing, like what-if Phoenix was a mass murderer? .etc, but looks like it's gone all dramatic, as everything I do usually does, so I changed the summary to reflect it. Oh, and I take it back, still can't figure the HTML out. *Stabbed*

Note 2: Oh yes, and I forgot if I mentioned this, but you're free to criticize me, so don't feel shy in coming up to tell me that I suck and your grandmother's napkins can write better fanfictions.

* * *

**Lesson 5 : An ugly word.**

_Desperate was an ugly word. It was a terrible sinking feeling, and no one likes the word, because the word "desperate" had an air of finality to it, like when you say "He's desperate enough to do anything for it.", you mean it. You mean it in a way whereby you can't think of any way out of the equation, in a way that means that there IS no other way, and there is only one way, and it is a desperate way. _

_Desperation had biting, bitter sensation, like the coffee Godot used to throw at him across the courtroom, and it was a feeling that Phoenix felt every time he paid for his lunch. _

_He was running out of options._

_He should have been more frugal with his money, he knew, shouldn't have bought all that wine to stop himself from remembering the last minutes he had at court – the shame of everyone passing him looking at him like he was a slug – that he IS a slug, and hearing muffled whispers echoing in the hallways._

"_He forged the evidence for the case."_

"_I can't believe it, why would he do that...?"_

"_He should have known better, people like this..."_

"_...Just like that prosecutor a while back..."_

_He wanted them to shut up, so he used alcohol to shut them up. But then he shook himself awake – He was a father now, fathers weren't allowed to wallow in self pity when they have a bundle of responsibilities to care for. So he shook himself and he shook himself, and then he had tried to find some way to fulfill that responsibility. _

_But things like to conspire – Somewhere up there there was a person against him, he was sure- and the money he had saved from his lawyer days were fast running out, and more wasn't coming in anytime soon. He was desperate._

_There was the word again – desperate. He was desperate for money – hell, would do anything for it. He had taken a habit of biting his nails, and whenever there came a bill he tried to put it off the best he could. He'd stash it under his pillow, in the desk drawers, anywhere but where he or Trucy could see it – because every time he saw the figures in the bank doing a steady countdown to zero, that sinking feeling return. He felt like a trapped beast in a corner, no way out. Up down left right, all roads sealed off. _

_If it was only him, he could make his way somewhere where he could get a better job – better than that, he wouldn't have to move at all, because he would be able to struggle by by himself. But he refused to dawdle on what ifs – Trucy was all that he had now. So moving was out of the option and finding a better, viable job was the obvious solution. But he couldn't do that either, because he had did art in college, and no one wanted an artist these days -even when they did, they like to pay them peanuts. With both law and art shut off from him, new jobs would be hard to come by – he's not exactly a straight-A student now, is he? And even if he found one better than playing poker, it wasn't likely to pay much more. So that solution was a no-go too._

_He even considered asking – no, that wasn't the word. Asking sounds as if he had a choice, and choice wasn't a luxury he had right now – begging Edgeworth for money but no, his pride rebelled at that. He wanted to wing it through, but ugh! What was he suppose to do anyway? Pride or life? Seems like an easy choice, unless you're the person whose pride is in question. But then doubt sets in, even if Edgeworth helped them out, how long would it last anyway? Edgeworth wasn't a money-printing machine, he spent big, but it was only himself he was obligated too, assuming he was willing to help them out, then -even then- they needed some kind of alternative eventually. They can't live forever on Edgeworth's charity, and Edgeworth probably wouldn't be feeling very charitable when he realizes that he can't change cars like clothes while playing benefactor to them._

_He bit his nails some more. It was becoming a habit these days._

_Meanwhile the numbers in the Machine of Great Doom kept counting down, and the longer he waited, the more the feeling of desperation blossomed in him, like some wild rose breeding maniacally in him, all the thorns striking down into his heart to make him feel worse than he was already. If that was even possible. _

_And he would have gone back to the bottle to drown out that feeling, except he really couldn't afford any more bottles, not even the simple beer – so he went around with panic attacks every time he thought of money, or something related to money, like paying for food, or paying for electricity, or paying for water, or paying the rent, or paying anything at all. He went around with a permanent frown._

_First he'll try to borrow some money. From someone, he didn't know who – but he'll find someone. So okay, obviously it was going to be Maya first, even if it was unlikely she had any since she was always stealing his wallet anyway. Miraculously though, in a way rather like one of his courtroom battles, Maya managed to produce a few hundred bucks for him. It was money she collected over the years from festivals like New Years and yes, she assured him, it was okay for him to have it. Even Pearl took out her piggy bank for him, money that she had saved to buy them a honeymoon trip, she stated, but it was obvious he need it now._

_He took it._

_Next was Kristoph Gavin, though certainly not by choice. He wouldn't ask such a favour and risk alienating the only person who stood up for him during his trial, but Kristoph came knocking one day, and sat for a chat. He was very nice. It was all very nice, even when the only thing he could offer him was coffee. Then Kristoph gave him a smile, a knowingly sly sort of smile, and thrust a few hundred dollar bills into his hands and left before he could protest, and he had, even though his heart rebelled against it._

_He died a little more inside._

_That night, they both went out for a burger – the first they had for one whole month. _

_But a few hundred dollars didn't last forever. Nothing does, and certainly not money. So he watched with **that** feeling again as the bills disappeared one by one, and he could feel a noose tightening around his neck little by little. _

_He was going to have to do something. He was the adult now, the responsible one. And he knew that if things got any worse, Trucy would be taken away from him by the social care, and that was a thought he couldn't accept, because he had nothing but Trucy and the conviction to keep going, to find who did this to him. _

_And the thought kept echoing in his head : I have to do something, I have to do something. Only what? What am I suppose to do? What CAN I do?_

_And then the doorbell rang. The mailman was here._

_

* * *

_

When Phoenix woke up, his head was throbbing - it felt like someone was repeatedly pounding on the back of his head with a stump or a baseball bat, going on and on in a uniform rhythm of _boom boom boom boom. _He squinted up and barely resisted the urge to close his eyes right away at the sight awaiting him. Obviously, the thing giving him that headache wasn't a bat or a stump or anything of the sort – It was the sheer ferocity with which Edgeworth was glaring at him. Yes, that must be him hitting his head.

"Why....hitting...head?" He croaked out. His head was cushioned by something soft, the carpet – he guessed, or maybe Edgeworth was kind enough to arrange him on the couch? Either way, he knew both of them would be burgundy and dust-free.

Edgeworth didn't say anything, merely crossing his arm and tapping his finger on the other arm with a rapidly darkening expression. Why WAS he staring at him like that? He didn't do anything wrong, except...except...

He couldn't remember. He stared, fascinated, at Edgeworth's tapping finger.

...Except trying to kill him. Oh yeah.

_Wooooosh, _everything came back at him like a bad serve rebounding in his face. He croaked and tried to climb up from the couch – yes, it was a couch.

"Oh, for god's sake," Edgeworth bit out and rushed forward to rudely shove him back down, making his head bounced onto the armrest. He moaned.

"What was that for?"

"What was what for?"

"Push!" He wanted to raise his hand to check for possible flattening of his hair, but he was afraid Edgeworth would twist his hand or break his spine.

"You were being stupid. Stop trying to sit up, you obviously cracked something."

_Yes, thank you very much for your concern, and as it is apparent, you lack of confidence in my bones._

"I didn't..." He protested, and tried to get up. His back protested in return with a scream of agony and he flopped back down. "crack anything..." He finished weakly.

Edgeworth smirked. "Why would you need to get up anyway? I like you incapacitated perfectly fine."

Phoenix had to smile weakly at that. "...Sounds so...innuendo..."

"If I wanted to use innuendo, I would have picked something...Classier, thank you very much." Edgeworth shot back, smiling. Suddenly, he became serious again. The moonlight shone into the room, and you could see the slight, invisible frown on his face. "...You tried to kill me." It wasn't a question – It was a statement. Miles Edgeworth didn't waste much time on pointless meandering.

"Yes." Phoenix said simply. No point in denying it now. People don't just crawl around in roofs and drop in with guns hellbent on sharing anecdotes over lukewarm soup.

"I didn't know it was you."

"I see."

Edgeworth picked up the gun, then careful as ever, wiped off the fingerprints on it.

"Going to shoot me back?"

"I will if your answer doesn't please me."

"Oh."

"So let's start with the basics. Name and occupation?"

He smiled. Maybe Miles wasn't all that angry after all, if he could crack jokes like that – which was rare even when he was in a good mood.

"Right now? Phoenix Wright, desperado." Then he started talking, and it felt like a dam cracked – he had finally found someone who he could tell everything to, who would listen, willingly, and not have him dragged off by men in white suits or worse – uniforms. Well, he was willing at least. Phoenix wasn't too sure about the dragged off by uniforms part. But he talked anyway.

* * *

Miles was angry, but he didn't know why. He felt angry, very angry in fact, but he couldn't pinpoint exactly who or what he was angry at. Certainly not Phoenix, because he had realized sometime between finding out what he had signed himself up for and now that he was as much a victim as an innocent defendant. He was a victim of circumstances, of life, of injustice and of what plagued many people and many streets – poverty. It wasn't a nice picture to paint, but it was a true picture to paint, so he painted it in his heart and vowed never to forget it. Perhaps he was angry at deKiller then, but that didn't seem justified. DeKiller went about doing his job, and yes that job was to be a murderer, but murderers he had seen aplenty, and he wasn't angry at all of them. It really wasn't his fault either that Phoenix was in this mess – all he wanted was a successor and at least, at least he didn't kill anyone for it. Unlike Manfred von Karma.

Maybe he was angry at himself. Yes, that seems a much more plausible explanation. Miles was very often angry at himself for a myriad of reason, and as he listened to Phoenix's story ending, he realized it was true.

"Why didn't you come to me for help?' Phoenix's lips moved, but he couldn't make out any answer. "Well?"

"Pride."

"Foolish pride, Phoenix."

"I know."

"Do you?"

"I said I did, didn't I?"

"Why the pride then?'

"I don't know. It's not like you don't have pride. Yours is even larger than mine."

"Answer the question."

Phoenix let out a long sigh. "Look, I don't know, alright? Maybe I wasn't sure that you would help. Maybe I hated you for just up and leaving at the end of **that **trial. Maybe I thought you would laugh at me. Maybe I was just being stupid, and I can't bring myself to ask you for help, afraid you were going to laugh at how far I've fallen. I don't know, okay?" He threw an arm over his face.

"I would have helped." he said quietly.

"Yeah? Well thanks. For whatever you would have helped me with." the man bit out.

He thought that optimistic, ever-cheerful Phoenix sounded bitter, but then again, he had a lot to be bitter about these past months. If he was the one who had his badge stripped from him, he probably would be as bitter, if not more.

"Don't blame me for not giving something you didn't ask for, Wright."

"I know! I know. It's just...I'm just...angry I guess. At how things turned out. One moment I was an attorney, not gloriously so, but at least I was one. Then next minute I'm stone broke with a kid to feed. Then now I've gone and gotten myself stuck in this mess."

"Do you regret it?"

"Huh?"

"Trucy, I mean. Having her around must have been part of the influence for you to take up deKiller's offer."

"No." He looked up sharply. "I won't regret her, no matter what."

"I see." Miles pushed back his hair and exhaled a sharp breath. "What are we going to do about it then?"

"We?"

"Yes, we. Assuming you had ideas other than for us all to hold hands and sing 'Kumbaya, my lord' ?"

"Hah, funny that you mention..."

"Wright, be serious."

The man in question looked at him with a startlingly sudden sombre face. He was always like that, Miles thought, even back during the elementary school days. He would look so cheerful and happy and oblivious that you wouldn't think anything could bring him down, or any insult would beggar him and then suddenly, he would look at you with those serious, sincere eyes and you find yourself feeling as if you never saw a more...Proper person. He didn't know the word for it, but it was like righteous, kind and all those words blended together. Intense. Yes, that was the word. Phoenix was ...serious, whatever he may look like.

"When am I allowed to be funny then?"

"Wright..." He look at those blue eyes staring at him, and felt momentarily lost. Who was he to come back into his life and tell him what he was going to do? He shook his head. Because he must. " You know you can't be like this forever. You'll get caught eventually, and then who's going to take care of Trucy?"

"Don't use her to justify yourself."

"...And you're not cut out for it either. You don't believe what you are doing is right, and you'll never be fine as long as you keep doing this."

"...And don't put words in my mouth either."

"Are they wrong?"

Silence.

"No."

Phoenix slowly sat up and rubbed his face with his palms. Miles wanted to pat him on his shoulder, give him more pillows – anything to take away that stiffness in his shoulders – but he can't. This was a decision Phoenix MUST make on his own, and he wasn't going to influence him into doing it without properly thinking it over.

"I know that. It' just that..."

"I can help you out, you know that, don't you?"

"I know that. If I had somehow dropped into your office half a year ago, it would have made everything alright. But now. Now there is deKiller. I agreed, Miles, to do this. I can't go back on my word."

"Then don't. Make another promise and cancel it out. Promise me you wouldn't muck your life up by agreeing with that crap. You're not a murderer, Phoenix. You can't be one."

"I'm already one." He said quietly. If Miles hadn't been waiting, he wouldn't have heard it.

"I know, but that doesn't mean you have to continue as one."

Phoenix looked aside, suddenly shame-faced. "I nearly killed you today too. If I hadn't- hadn't realized it was you, I would have shot you."

The world is a funny place. "I know."

"But you didn't, and maybe that was good -and I'm not just saying this because I would have come out worse if you did -" Wright cracked a smile at that. " but maybe, just maybe, it'll be the first step. Get you out of this mess, fix your life, then get on the jerk who forged the evidence and right hook him. You know, straighten it out."

" Do you really think so?" He had a wistful kind of smile on his face, that reminded Miles of his simpler, goofball days, when he had the tendency to ask Miles about everything, even what he should eat for lunch.

"I know so." Miles nodded, and Phoenix nodded with him, eyes closed. "We'll talk to deKiller, and if he refuses, or he gets angry, then we can get someone to handle him. Gumshoe maybe."

Phoenix laughed at that. It was a very calming sound. "I don't really know what to think about putting our lives in the hands of Gumshoe."

Miles smiled at him. "Then we can ask Skye, or maybe Franziska, and if things come to the worst then maybe we can run off and live in a Brazillian jungle, or maybe we can go live in a boat in Thailand, or maybe we can..."

The moonlight speared into the now completely dark office and sighed softly as Phoenix and Miles sat side by side on the couch, while Miles' voice continued telling him ways after ways after ways that life could go on.


	6. Lesson Six : To kill a Phoenix

Note : My chapters are getting longer and longer and longer. From like one thousand to two thousand words to now, three thousands. Bear with me though. As usual, I don't own a Phoenix of any kind, and the only Miles I have belongs to Capcom. Also, criticizing, especially to tell me that I'm crap, is always appreciated. Love.

**

* * *

Lesson Six : To kill a Phoenix**

DeKiller looked glum as he stepped into one of his favourite places to meet with clients – Elmer's. It was classy, it was convenient, and most of all – It was close to Lordly Tailor – a handy place to get rid of tiny pieces of evidences that would have had someone else indicted. The warehouse of Lordly Tailor was such a mess that most things that disappear into it never came out – unless it came out in the form of big black plastic bags that no one bothers to check. Throwing things into the sea is so much more suspicious, and it definitely had more chance of being discovered than in the museum's warehouse.

He stirred his coffee and looked out silently at the gray-looking pavements of Los Angeles' street and the people walking by busily in suits, -talking on the phone, checking things out on papers, the snapping of briefcases being opened and close. Los Angeles was the city of angels, and everyone here is at least at busy. People here endlessly shuffle, endlessly moving from one side of the city to the other, trapped in some kind of invisible web of puppet strings, and in this kind of environment, no one paid very much attention to anyone else, especially not a lone man in a lonely bar.

The loneliness gave him a bit of time to think though, which Shelly needed, what with all the changes in his life recently. He had finally found himself a successor – Phoenix Wright, that defense attorney that he had met during the whole Engarde mess. He definitely wouldn't have been his first choice – few assassins he knew would want a flabby lawyer in a tweed suit as a successor, but he was getting impatient. The first few heirs he had found were in numerical order – An idiot, caught, and a pansy. The idiot had somehow, through a miracle of brain activity that he wasn't interested in finding out, shot himself in the foot. There was a lot of blood and a lot of shouting, and after Shelly had bandaged his leg for him, he had dropped him back home and washed his hands of him. The next one was competent, but alas, on his very first job, he had been caught. And not only was he caught, he had decided he would have a better chance of surviving trial by ratting out on Shelly. Shelly had made sure he wouldn't be doing that any more. The third one was even worse, he quailed at the sight of blood like a dog would quail at his master's whip, shaking like a leaf in the wind at the merest sight of crimson. He had nerves like strings. DeKiller sent him on his way too. And then...And then there is Phoenix Wright.

Phoenix Wright was competent. He could carry out what was demanded of him without much fuss. And even if he had that occasional whimsical look in his eye, at least he could be a hard man when he wanted him to be. He would be the successor Shelly wanted. Except... He was starting to wonder at the name, deKiller. For generations after generations, the deKiller name can be succeeded one by one to become one of the most famous hit-men in the world. But those successors, they never were happy with it in the first place, just like Mr. Wright. He himself too had been unhappy when he was first blackmailed into the job. Yet somehow...Somehow it seemed that once you've gone down the road, there really is no way back. Some part of you becomes like an onion, only the other way round. Your heart becomes the core, and as the years pass, you find yourself enveloped more and more by the shadows and ghosts of the past deKillers, until your own doubts and whims become buried under the almost mechanical desire to simply move. To do it. To succeed the name. To become deKiller.

Which of course brought him back to why he was feeling glum. Phoenix Wright hadn't contacted him for a week. He was still an amateur after all, and there really wasn't any reason why he wouldn't called him. Unless...Unless he had been caught. That would be complicated. He needed Phoenix to be his successor, and he would have to bust him out and erase all records of his existence in the penitentiary. And there was always the fact that he would have to observe him carefully. He wouldn't be surprised if he became a police informer. Shelly had ceased becoming surprised a decade ago. Then there's also THE OTHER reason. He tried to shove it out of his mind -doubt does not a good assassin maketh – but the nagging feeling was still there. Had Wright run off? Had he decided that he wouldn't do it after all, and went back on his word?

It was a troubling thought.

A gentle clinking of the bells startled him out of his reverie, the bells chiming a smooth note as the wooden doors of the bar slided open and his client walked into the bar. He stood up to shake the man's hand, to make it appear more like a normal business deal to anyone standing by.

"Mr. Doe?"

"Yes, you are Isaac Morgan, yes?"

The man didn't answer him, merely sitting down and putting his briefcase at the side of the table, leaning against the wall. The man seemed familiar somehow – with slightly gray hair parted in the middle and a vertical line marking what was obviously an often frowning face. In casual black and burgundy clothes, he couldn't seem to place him, but he knew...He was sure he had seen the man before.

"You are here regarding my...request, is it?"

"Yes. We need to discuss the terms of our contract, most especially since this is a judge we are talking about." He produced a sheet of neatly typed paper filled with fine print and the clauses of the whole deal.

"Are you incapable of doing it then?"

"There is no one I am incapable of 'doing', as you so put it, Mr. Morgan."

"Well, there's no one you need to do either. The request is not why I called you are, Shelly deKiller."

Shelly peered at the man from under his fake spectacles. As he had thought. There was something strange about the way the man carried himself, he didn't look nervous like his clients usually do when they're meeting him. They would usually bite their lips, or twist things around – little signs to indicate how nervous they were. There was none with this man.

"I hope for your sake that you did not call me out out of a desire for a prank call..._Morgan." _He stressed the last word dangerously.

"I don't prank call assassins for entertainment and live to sit opposite you."

"Then what is it then?" He was getting impatient, and he hated to admit it, but his nerves were raw. This man, whoever he was was having the upper hand – a situation that Shelly doesn't have much experience with. It was making him nervous that he could at that very moment be under surveillance of the police.

"You'll see. He should be...Ah, he's here." he looked up and saw the bells clinking a second time, and the wooden door with the stained glass decorating it's belly was pushed open and another man stepped into the bar. He had a blue beanie on, his hands were stuck in a gray hoodie's pocket, and he was Phoenix Wright.

* * *

An hour ago, Miles had told Phoenix that he had set up an appointment with deKiller. Phoenix's reaction was to turn the colour of a tomato and shouted at the top of his lungs that he had made a decision like that – that affected him – without bothering to telling him, and that that was WRONG. Then he shouted at him about a lot of things, and then he had screamed in his face about everything from his apparent irresponsibilities, his stupidity, his arrogance, his assuming self – _YOU CAN'T SLICE A CUCUMBER, YOU'RE VAIN, AND YOU'RE A TEA-LOGLOMANIAC_- even, and this amused Miles, his inability to fold any other origami other than paper cranes.

When he was done shouting, he had a mental breakdown, and started using Miles' couch cushions as a handkerchief, so Miles made a call to deKiller and told him that the meeting would have to be delayed - Phoenix was too busy sobbing into the cushion to notice that sort of thing. So he patted Phoenix a little awkwardly on the shoulder, and then he had an arm around Phoenix to comfort him, and before he knew it, the successor to the position of his cushion was his cravat. This alternately annoyed and amused Miles.

When Phoenix was finally – finally – done with sobbing his eyes out and have come around to his way of thinking – mainly that they can't avoid this sort of confrontation forever unless he had some heretofore unannounced desire to live in an Arabian quicksand, he got up to exchange his cravat with one of his many spares in his desk drawer, leaving Phoenix desperately trying to get the stains off his cushion. He cracked a smile at the sight of Phoenix swearing over the now quite ruined cushion and discreetly deposited his earlier cravat into the thrash bin.

All things considered then, it was no wonder that he was in a cheerful mood as they strolled from where his car was parked over to Elmer's. Phoenix was standing beside him after all, still with the kind of snifflies that made him so adorable, and there really wasn't much that could ruin his day. He even got deKiller to agree to meeting him in this city, in case he becomes angry and they have to make a quick getaway they could get Trucy so much faster than if they had been across the world.

"Are you sure this will be fine, Miles?" Phoenix frowned at him. He still had his doubts as to the intelligence percentage of a plan that consists of them walking into a bar armed with nothing more substantial than a loincloth.

"It'll be fine, deKiller won't be so stupid as to shoot us in the middle of a bar, in the middle of the day, in the middle of the city. He'll be angry, but he won't be insane. Worse thing he can do, he'll get somewhere more secluded and shoot us as we leave the place."

"Wow, thanks. That was really assuring. Remind me never to go to you when I'm feeling down. Your advice stinks."

"This coming from the man that had just use my cravat like a tissue paper."

His grin turned sheepish. "Uh...Yeah. Maybe I take it back then, your advice might stink, but you make a good tablecloth."Miles laughed at that.

* * *

When he entered the bar, Phoenix was in a serious mood, all his laughter with Miles was left on the doorstep, like baggage at someone else's house. He would have those moments again later, he thought, if he made it out of here alive.

Strangely the thought was neither scary nor disturbing, instead, he found in himself a sort of steely determination to go through this – whatever the consequences. This morning when Miles had told him that they would meet deKiller today, he had been assaulted with many different feelings. He was afraid – afraid of how deKiller might react to the knowledge that his chose successor had decided not to be one after all. He was afraid – afraid that deKiller would somehow retaliate by killing Trucy instead – or worse, Miles, because it would be so easy for him to do that, with the amount of time he spent in public.

Months of training had drilled into his brain all the ways a person could die. Miles for example, could go a dozen different ways just in that bar alone. He could step on his neck really hard and it would break. If there was one thing Phoenix was grateful at deKiller for, it was that he had taught him that life, however solid it may seem, can be very fragile too.

He saw Miles at the table and deKiller's surprised face, steeled his shoulders, and went through over.

"Um. Hi." He pulled out the chair next to Miles and slide into it. The man in question looked like he was crazy.

"Mr. Wright." Shelly nodded at him. " Now then," He looked at Miles and Phoenix both. "What do you have to say that I would want to hear?"

"None." Miles said simply.

"I see."

"I ah. I um." His knees were shaking despite his earlier determination – but it was a good kind of knee-shaking, the kind he used to have all the time during courtroom battles with Miles.

"I'm quitting." He blurted out, then realized how ridiculous that sounded. "Not doing anymore I mean. The whole killing people thing."

Shelly lowered his glasses and took a long hard look at him that made him felt like his insides were turning into ice. If it wouldn't make a scene and made Miles eternally angry at him, he thought he would rather run and head for the door.

"We had an agreement."

"You _did_. He's going back on it."

Oh no. Wrong phrasing, Miles, you idiot.

"We had an agreement..." DeKiller repeated, drawling out the words. His forehead was scrunched up with a concentrated frown. "...That you will become my successor provided I...assist you with your difficulties, which I have done. Tell me, what seems to be the problem here?"

"I just..." Phoenix gulped. "...Don't really think I'm cut out for this job. I mean, I'm not really good – that is to say – really comfortable with the whole notion."

"Comfort is something nurtured, Mr. Wright, not given."

"Well, yes, yes. There's that. It just I can't really get my head around the whole thing and uh you know. " He finished lamely. He looked over at Miles, full on panic-mode for some help.

"What he means to say, Mr. deKiller, is that he _politely_, and _without any offence _wishes to null the agreement that you two have made."

"And you are?"

"Miles Edgeworth." A moment of registration flashed in Shelly's eyes, and Phoenix felt a chill went down his spine.

"The lawyer then, who Mr. Wright was reportedly...close with."

"Yes." Phoenix looked at Miles, alarmed, but Miles didn't look back at him – he slipped his hand into his under the table and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

"And your role in this would be?"

"I persuaded him into this."

"Now wait a second it wasn't his--" Phoenix was really alarmed this time. _Fool!_ What was he trying to do, dig his own grave? All deKiller did was raise his hand to gesture him into silence.

"What would you gain by it, depraving me of a successor?" he addressed Miles.

"I will gain my friend back." he answered. "This sort of thing...I'm not sure if there would ever be someone whom I would say it suits, but regardless, Phoenix is not that person. It doesn't suit him, and I don't want to seem him crushed because of something thrust upon him. Not to mention that in the first place, it isn't a healthy career."

"It's just another business, Mr. Edgeworth. You put people into the execution list every other day, don't you? How is that different from what I do? The only difference in our victims is that they are dead before they suffer in my case, and yours have to sit in a cell all day waiting for their doom."

That hit a nerve. "Of course there is a difference, the people I convict are criminals and they---"

"--- are as guilty as some on the streets out there. In fact, for as many people as you convict, as many are out there whom you can't convict because you have no evidence – no substantial evidence at least. I am paid, so I simply put them out of society's way, just like you, you are paid, and you put them out of society's way, or do I err?"

Of course it was true. It was something that angered a lot of lawyers and made almost a quarter of the young ones quit every year – because they had been disillusioned about the nature of law. There was no such thing as a court of justice – it was merely a place to punish careless criminals and allowed the smart ones to get off the hook. There wasn't a defender of justice out there sticking people into jail when they deserve it – they were just humans, and it was just another flaw in the system, a cog in the machine.

"I--"

"Know when you have lost, Mr. Edgeworth. " Even Miles was speechless at that.

"But um..." Phoenix decided to cut in. "So are you you know, okay with my whole quitting thing?"

Shelly deKiller looked at him like he was mad, or had ten thumbs. "No, I am not alright with it. You have gone back on your word, Mr. Wright, and I trust that you should know by now that I take my agreements very seriously."

"Oh, okay."

"For now however, I will have to think on it – whether it is worth it to...punish you for your atrocious behaviour and waste of my time. You may leave."

They got up and left.

* * *

The air outside was like a breath of well, fresh air. Phoenix had hardly walk a block when he punched the air with a jubilant sort of smile plastered all over his face – the kind that made Miles' stomach flip.

"We did it, huh? We really really did it, we told him that I was quitting! Yeah!"

"Now, now, don't be so happy just yet Phoenix. He did say he's going to think of it." Despite that, he couldn't stop smiling, especially when Phoenix pulled a face at him in a childish sort of way.

"Oh quiet, lowly peony. We made it out alive, that's all that matters now. I mean, he didn't even look really angry at all of that."

And that was what worried him, that apparent lack of reaction of any kind on deKiller's part, and he voiced it.

"I guess...? Maybe he's just a little overwhelmed Miles. There's no harm in that, guy's human after all. It'll be fine once he's thought it over, I'm sure of it."

Phoenix, Phoenix, always the endless optimist. They walked down the block, towards the car, both splitting grins that stretched across their face – Miles hadn't smiled so much in years.

"So, where are we going for dinner tonight? Your treat, of course."

"I would think Phoenix that generally, it would be my prerogative to say 'my treat'"

"No no, it is my prerogative, because you did say you'll help it out however," he grinned at Miles "And of course it's your treat because if it was my treat we'll be stuck there all night washing plates to pay for the food."

"Really, have you earned nothing this past months?"

"Oh, posh. Say, I know this really great burger joint down the street, and we can bring Trucy with us and....." Phoenix suddenly stopped walking. Miles looked back at him from a few steps ahead.

"I...uh..." He looked at Miles with a puzzled sort of expression on his face.

"Phoenix?"

Then he saw it. A blot at first, then steadily larger and larger – a crimson stain that blossomed like some kind of horrible...thing on his chest, eating up the clean white fabric swiftly and silently.

"PHOENIX!" he yelled and ran towards him, just in time to catch him as he fell forward. "Phoenix? Phoenix!" He shook him like a leaf, hoping that he would react, but all he did was make a strange gurgling sound deep in his throat. The sound sent him into full-on panic mode.

He looked around the street for help, and that was when he saw deKiller standing at the corner of the block, stony expression where people's face would be, looking at them.

"Why...?" He gasped. "I thought...I thought you said you were going to think it over."

"I have." Then Miles was left there, and deKiller's light loafers pattered off into the distance.

* * *

Note : Don't worry, this is going to be morbid, like my other fanfiction, voices in spring. It's just that I'm a complete sucker for drama, and I can't resist having Phoenix shot and Miles going all worrywart on him. And no, he's not going to die, though he just might when Miles goes "Have more tea, Wright. No, no, have more tea, I insist, tea's good for recovery" all day long. Tee hee.


	7. Lesson Seven : Intermission, tea time

Note : This chapter won't go into as much detail as the rest, since I want it to be mostly a light-hearted one. So in a way, it is an intermission from the story of sorts. Warning if you hate dialog though : Contains heavy dialog.

Note 2 : Yes, this chapter is crap. Kinda having a little writer's block. I promise the next chapter - the final chapter, will be more sputzah. Glittery. Bling bling. You get what I mean yes? One more chapter to go, you won't have to bear with me much longer.

Note 3: Grammar mistakes. But I'm not really sure what the correct one is, so grit your teeth and ignore it.

* * *

**Lesson Seven : Intermission ; and tea time.**

Gumshoe had been in a panic all day long. The first thing in the morning to greet him was an alarm clock - long since without batteries, yet somehow this eluded Gumshoe – that told him it was three minutes before seven. Thinking he had all the time in the world, he had proceeded to give himself a leisurely pace as he awaits his instant noodles to cook into completion. When it was cooked and consumed, he deemed it satisfying - "Nothing beats instant ramen, pal!" - and he took a peek at the clock.

Three minutes before seven. He had all the time in the world. He turned on the television to watch some Nickel Samurai - now sporting a brand new actor as Nickel Samurai - Juan Corrida's cousin.

Half an hour later, his phone rang. He took it up and hit the ignore button accidentally. "Hello? Hello?" he yelled, then blinked at it when no one responded. "Dang, must be a prank call."

Five minutes later, the department chief called again. _" Where the HECK are you Gumshoe?"_

"Watching the television, sir!"

_"And WHY are you watching television, may I know? It's already 20 minutes pass eight, and if you don't appear in front of me within the next ten minutes, I'm going to cut your salary by half, Gumshoe!"_

It was a twenty-minute walk between his closet-sized apartment and the department headquarters, so naturally, he was late, and his salary got cut into half.

Huffing and puffing when he arrived there, he went even redder in the face as he realized that the mountain of folders he had originally assumed were some file cleaning remains were actually for him to settle, and it piled all the way up up up, until it was higher than Gumshoe.

He sighed. This was not a good day. At ten there was a meeting between the department heads, and Gumshoe got security duty, as usual, standing in front of the door of the meeting room to make sure no one eavesdropped while desperately trying to wish some of the paperwork away.

At ten-thirty, he spilled coffee on Mr. Edgeworth's paperwork.

Five minutes later, his donuts got stolen.

Then, at one thirty, a call came. He nearly moaned in apprehension. Not more paperwork again! He checked the caller's ID : Mr. Edgeworth, and nearly broke a thumb getting it through fast enough.

"Yes, detective Gumshoe speaking, sir!"

_"Gumshoe! Get your butt over here now!"_

"Butz, sir? Okay, I'll nab him for you!"

_"NONO, LOOK, just...Just get over here okay? I'm near Lordly Tailor – it's-it's the street right next to it – wait let me check -- 60th avenue. Just get over here okay? And bring a first aid kid with you – and get the ambulance to move it faster if you can – I've already called them."_

"Yes sir! Do you need anything else, sir? Coffee?"

_"WILL YOU PLEASE SHUT UP AND GET OVER HERE NOW!?"_ Edgeworth was really screeching into the phone now, and Gumshoe can just imagine what kind of scene would have the usually calm and composed Edgeworth in such a frenzy. Maybe someone stole his ramen.

If that was the case...Gumshoe puffed up his chest and beamed his happy smile – Well, that's just the kind of job he experts in, chasing ramen thieves!

* * *

When Gumshoe arrived on the scene five minutes later, his face was the exact colour of a ripe tomato, having run most of the way here. It was lunch time after all, and the streets would be jam packed with commuters and being in a car would just hinder him. Of course, this was not the line of reasoning for Gumshoe's mad dash from the department – he simply had forgotten entirely that he had a police car at all – after all, it was Edgeworth doing the calling, and when Edgeworth called, he would come, quickly.

Of course, the scene wasn't quite was out of his line of reasoning either - he definitely hadn't expected it. He was picturing Mr. Edgeworth hysterical in front of a restaurant, angry over his being cheated of an extra egg by the chef and wanting Gumshoe to arrest him.

Someone -wait was that Mr. Wright? He looked so different from the last time he saw him, his spiky hair was all over the place – was being held in Edgeworth's embrace, who was busy pressing his free hand onto that person's chest. The man- Wright – was gasping for air and his face was twisted in pain, while Edgeworth's mirrored the expression with a grimace.

"Look, just hang on a little more Phoenix, it won't be long before the ambulance is here."

"It h-hurts--"

"I know it hurts – of course it hurts you bloody idiot, just don't let it get to you okay? Stay with me."

Wright gasped in answer as Edgeworth pressed his chest harder with a formerly-blue beanie.

"Mr. Edgeworth sir! Here's the first aid kit you wanted!" he interrupted, swinging the first aid kit forward like a baseball bat.

"Gumshoe! There you are! Open it up, give me the bandage. Hurry!"

Gumshoe fumbled inside the kit and handed him the snow white roll of cloth, which he pressed onto Wright's chest. It soon turned crimson in colour.

"Um...sir? How did he got like this sir? I mean – did someone stabbed him?"

"Do you see a knife, detective?" he snapped.

"Uh. No, sir."

"He was shot," Edgeworth spat out. "by deKiller, who is out on the streets right now."

Gumshoe's eyes gleamed. This was his golden chance to redeem his salary! "I'll go after him right now sir!" and dashed down the street like a bull in an arena.

"H-HEY GUMSHOE! NO YOU IDI--"

And then he couldn't hear Edgeworth's voice anymore as he progressed further down the street, because the only sound on the street was the wail of the ambulance's siren passing him.

* * *

_"Tea?"_

_"Okay."_

_"Which one do you want? I have two kinds with me – Darjeeling and Earl Grey."_

A confused silence.

_"Uh, what's the difference?"_

_"Earl Grey has a distinctive aroma that taste like a swirl of exquisite --"_

_"Okay okay, whatever, I get it. Early Grey it is."_

_"It's Earl Grey, get it right, for god's sake."_

Grunt.

_***_

_"Tea?"_

_"Um, didn't I just have some?"_

_"Tea's good for you."_

_"Oh. Okay."_

_***  
_

_"Do you want a magazine or the news?"_

_"What magazine is it?"_

_"Uh...It's a tabloid, I think."_

_"Tabloid then."_

_"Really, Phoenix!"_

_"What! You offered!"_

A sigh._ "Here you go."_

Shuffle of feet.

_"More tea?"_

_"Nngh. Just hand me the damned tabloid."_

_"With some tea, of course."  
_

***

_"Did you know that new heroine of Jammin' Ninja is engaged to Corrida's cousin?"_

_"I couldn't care less."_

_"And Will Powers is rumoured to be secretly in love with her."_

_"Isn't that the hairy thing accused in the steel samurai case?"_

_"Yeap, the one with the old bag for a witness."_

_"Hmm. Speaking of bags, some more tea?"_

_"Miles, I'm full."_

_"I insist, tea will help you recover faster."_

_"Not if my bladder explodes first."_

_"With or without sugar?"_

Sigh.

_"Sugar please."_

Smirk.

***

"Oh Phoenix, you're awake. Tea?"

_Oh for the love of--_

"Miles! I have enough of tea! I'm not an invalid, for god's sake! Stop feeding me tea all the time!"

Miles was sitting beside his hospital bed with a newspaper hanging daintily between his fingers and a cup of tea, smoking hot, sitting on the set of chests beside him. He looked up at Phoenix.

"I told you, tea's good for you."

"And I told you, if I have another sip of tea, I'll die of over-hydration."

"I don't think there's such a thing, Phoenix."

"Well that's great, I can be the first case of it ever happening to a person then – with the way you're pouring tea down my throat, I'm definitely going to make it up the charts."

"Tea, according to the Teabag's Encyclopedia, is an excellent source of--"

"I don't want to hear it!"

Phoenix covered his face with a pillow to block out Miles' voice, which prompted Miles to get up and try to pull the pillow off here.

"Listen to me! Tea is---"

Just then, the door to the ward Phoenix was occupying was pushed apart and Trucy walked in with Godot following behind her.

"Hi, daddy!" She sounded extremely cheerful, Miles thought, for a person whose father was just shot.

"Hey there Trucy. Say you wouldn't mind making Miles here disappear for a bit, would you?" Phoenix mumbled from under the pillow Miles was trying to snatch away from him.

"Daddy," she pulled a face. "You know I can't do that..."

"Thank goodness, O voice of reason, to see that there's someone else who--" Miles interrupted.

"...If I made him disappear he'll disappear forever."

"--is reasonable..." he finished lamely.

"Awww." Phoenix sulked.

Then they all burst into laughter.

* * *

Trucy skirted around the bed, dropping a large basket of what Miles presumed were gifts from her fans – dolls and candy sticks in a pretty weaved basket tied with decorative red ribbons – onto the bed stand and flopped down to sit beside her father, who was propped up by a stack of white pillows.

He was sporting a bandage around his chest, but that was the extent of his damage – he was smiling at Trucy so brightly that Miles thought he rivaled the white hospital light above them.

"How've you been, Trucy?" He pull off her hat with a flourish and messed up her hair fondly. She immediately went into a torrent of what had happened during her nightly performances and entertaining them with tales of her magical prowess and her fans' puzzlement. A break in her speech, then a lapse of comfortable silence. She addressed Miles.

"Oh yes, and speaking of which uncle Miles, why is daddy in the hospital?" She looked at Diego and wagged her finger. " Uncle Diego won't tell me – he said he doesn't know, so uncle Miles, why is he in the hospital?" She had a kind of glower about her at the mention of her father that told him that if something serious had happened to her father, she would be a force to reckon with.

"Well..." Miles looked at Phoenix; he nodded his approval. "Someone shot your father."

She frowned for a second and opened her mouth to speak but Armando beat her to it. "Who shot him, and why?"

"DeKiller did. Phoenix told him that he was quitting the...Job." It seemed wrong to downplay such a serious matter, but he didn't want to scare Trucy, and he didn't know the extent of Armando's knowledge.

"Ah. That successor thing?" the man in question said.

Well that cleared the doubts. "Yes."

"So daddy told him he won't do it any more?"

"Yes."

"And that's why he shot daddy?"

He repeated his answer.

"Oh! But that's so mean! I should have made him disappear when I saw him!"

Phoenix, who was examining the basket swiveled around sharply at the comment. "You saw him? When did you see him?"

"Evening today. He dropped by to watch my show. He said you were doing his work too, so he can take a break to come and watch my show. That was before uncle Miles called and told me about you though."

"I...see." Phoenix frowned and put the basket back onto the stand. He looked up at Miles. "What does this mean? Why did he went to see Trucy's show?"

His face turned pale all of a sudden. He looked like he was going to be sick. "Y-You don't think he's going to get back at me by hurting Trucy, do you?" His hands were clutching the fabric of Miles' pants, who was standing beside him, while his other was twisted into the wide bedsheets.

"Don't worry about that right now Phoenix." Phoenix ignored him, staring down at the white sheets covering his lower body with a frown plastered over his face.

He exhaled a sharp breath. "Because if he is, I don't think I have a choice. I'll have to continue working for him."

"No." Surprisingly, this didn't came from Miles – it was Trucy. "You can't go back, daddy. He's dangerous, I mean, look what he did to you just because you quited."

"Yes, but -"

"My other daddy told you to look after me you know," she tilted her head. "And you can't do that if you're dead."

The little girl displayed remarkable maturity for someone so young, Miles thought.

"I well, suppose. But still, there's really nothing else we can do – the police can't touch him and --" Phoenix was starting to look a little trapped. Miles put one hand on his shoulder.

"Wright," he said, deliberately reverting to his last name to startle him into attention. "Don't worry about that right now, Phoenix. Right now, the most important thing you need to do is to recover. All else is secondary."

"That's right, a man ain't a man if he goes into battle in a skirt." Armando piped up from the coffee cup he was stirring.

"Uh...Nevermind that. The point is, Phoenix, just stop worrying for now, alright?" He patted him a little awkwardly on the shoulder. If they were alone, he would have hugged him, but alas...

Phoenix sighed, and his forehead relaxed a little as he thought of something, and it was followed by a small teasing smile. "This coming from the man with premature wrinkles from frowning."

"I do **_not_**."

"You do too."

"I do not."

"You do. Tell him Trucy, he does right?"

"Yes, daddy, and so do you."

"Hey!"

They all laughed again.

* * *

Later that night, Trucy had pecked Phoenix lightly on the cheek and wished him goodnight and goodbye and left with Diego in tow. Miles had chosen to remained, and they were now sharing a cup of tea with the television showing late-night reruns of the Steel Samurai. Miles was sitting on his bed, beside him, and he thought of how nice it was, having Miles there with him – It made the situation, however unreal, however tough it was – to at least not bring him down.

He sipped the tea silently.

The atmosphere was comfortable, broken only by occasional chirp of some bugs, and the voices of the Steel Samurai and the Evil Magistrate as they belt it out over a clashing of spears.

"Phoenix."

"Hmm?"

Steel Samurai was whacking at the Evil Magistrate's feet with the pole of his spear.

"We need to talk."

"Can't it wait?"

"Well, I guess it can."

"Let's wait then."

Steel Samurai slipped and fell, and the Evil Magistrate raised a spear, ready to stab down at the incapacitated samurai – the credits rolled, signaling the end of the episode at the cliffhanger.

"Aww, I want to know how he survived that." Phoenix whined, turning off the TV with an expert flick of the remote.

Miles smirked. "The Steel Samurai of the future went back in time to save him, in case you're wondering."

"Huh? But wait a second – if there is a future Steel Samurai, then it must mean he survived, but he wouldn't survive if he doesn't go back in time to save himself, which means that there wouldn't be a him in the future, if there isn't a him in the future."

He looked befuddled. Miles laughed. They sat in the silence and looked at the TV screen and the inky blackness of the glass. Neither wants to break the silence – it's too precious. In that kind of silence, time itself seems to stop whispering, and you feel as though you were raised above it's flow, as if you couldn't be touched by troubles of any kind – free.

But good things had to end.

"Can we talk now?"

"It depends, do you have something I want to hear?"

"Don't be chilidish, Phoenix."

He sighed. "I know...Just...Don't really feel like it, I guess."

Miles glanced at him, looking worried. "Are you alright?"

"Just...Tired. There really isn't anything we can talk about right now anyway. The cards are all in his hands. All we can do is wait for him to make a move."

"Yes. In the meantime however, I've informed the special team assigned to capturing him about his existence. They' re going to spare some members to protect you, as well as watch for signs of hostility from him."

"I see."

"You don't sound happy to hear that."

"Would you be happy to hear that you need police protection from a known murderer, and a skilled one at that? If you would, why don't you try taking my place? I welcome all applicants." He snapped at him.

"....Sorry." Phoenix felt like an ass.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you. It was my fault we're in this situation in the first place." He looked away. Bitterness welled up at his throat. He wanted to blame someone, but there really isn't anyone to be blamed in this – not even himself, if he was to be honest about it. It didn't deter Miles though.

"It's not your fault, Phoenix. It's not really anyone's fault this whole mess has gotten so big, but most especially not yours."

"Thanks." It's nice to hear your own beliefs being confirmed. He tried for a more cheerful tone. "We'll be fine right? I mean, I got through this already, we'll get through the whole thing right? Not just the both of us. All of us - even Trucy and Diego."

"I don't know, Mr. Optimist, but I sure hope so."

Phoenix laughed, then dropped onto his pillow.

"Tired?"

"Don't know. I feel...charged. Like I'm waiting for something to happen, except it isn't happening and I'm all worn out from worrying."

"So many contradictions in such a simple testimony," Miles quipped.

"Don't," Phoenix warned. "point them out. I'm not going to have a shouting match with you in the hospital in the middle of the night."

"Then go to sleep, or that's just what we'll be doing," he laughed.

Phoenix nodded weakly and felt himself dozing off as sleep claimed him. The last thing he felt before he fell asleep was Miles, sweeping his hair back and kissing his forehead lightly.

"Goodnight, Phoenix."

_I'll have sweet dreams tonight, _he thought. His mouth curled into a lazy smile.


	8. Final Lesson : At High Noon

Charxelle : About the OOC thing, I can't resist, Edgeworth's so stiff and formal in the game, i just can't resist making him a little more fun xD Oh, and he changed his name in Germany because when he ran off the first time (the whole, prosecutor is dead thing. ) he changed his name so that no one would connect him with 'Miles Edgeworth", so when he returned there after the Engarde thing, he just resumed his name. Uh. At least that's my excuse for my plot hole =X Also, I'll try to stick Trucy in Gumshoe's house, but I can't guarantee any thing, since I've already decided this will be the last chapter.

Note (In progress) : This is turning out more light-hearted than I thought it would be. Oh well. I'm all drama'd out.

* * *

**Last lesson : At High Noon, there was red  
**

DeKiller had had a long time to think over what he would do and what he won't, and his thoughts were all like tunnels in highways – they go round and round, up and down, they had signboards to tell you where to go and what to do there as well as what you had to expect, but never seemed to tell you the one thing that you want them to tell you. Where it leads to. Where it ends.

Life was tiring him – that much he understood. Rather, life did not tire him, he hadn't had much taste of it to be tired of it – it was life as a deKiller : Getting up, checking his mail, accepting requests, meeting clients, shooting people, covering up – it was like a recipe for cake. You do the same thing over and over again, rinse and repeat, rinse and repeat. Maybe it was time to let the deKiller name die. It really hadn't done anyone good before, and it didn't look like it was going to start being charitable soon, if the way all his apprentices are running off is any indication. It was the way kids these days were brought up, he thought, and nodded in self-righteousness. Too much of all that Facebook and MySpace Thingamajig. In his days, if you wanted friends you sign up for a pen pal section and send your pen pals pictures of your prettier friends and tell them that's you. These days if you wanted friends, all you had to was sit in front of the computer – much less work than it used to be.

Maybe it was a sign that times were changing. That it was time to let go. The name had lasted generations, maybe this can be the last.

He felt lighter just thinking that.

But first, there is the matter of that Phoenix Wright. He had to do something about him, 'less he thought that he could cross Shelly deKiller and survived entirely unharmed. No no, that would be terrible for his reputation – and really, it wasn't like he could sit on his hands on this one. No, he was far too chummy with that prosecutor for his own good, and that prosecutor in return, is friends with that detective who had chased him down the streets all the way downtown shouting "Stop! This is an arrest, pal!" His intelligence begs questioning, but his badge does not.

He must find some way to punish them, and nodded in agreement with himself. Yes, he's decided. This will be his last job, he WILL retire, and he WILL let the deKiller line end. But not without some...fun first. His face cracked into his first smile in years.

* * *

_Ding-dong!_

"Someone, get the door please."

"Daddy, YOU get it."

"Um, hello, patient here. Why do I have to do it? I'm the one with a bullet hole in his chest."

"Of which is almost completely healed. Get the door, Phoenix."

"Yeah, do as Mr. Edgeworth says and get the door, pal!"

"Like a sunrise from the west, that is a doorbell. You must savour it while it last."

"Okay, okay, fine! I hope you guys grow a pot belly with the amount of exercise you're NOT doing." Phoenix got up from the couch in which he was sharing with Edgeworth and started towards the door.

"Don't worry, when we do I'm sure we will all gather around and admire your smooth flat stomach. Now go get the mail, Phoenix, and pass mine to me when you're done." Edgeworth quipped with a lazy smile, curled up on the couch with a copy of the Sunday newspaper crumpled and peeking out under an elbow.

Phoenix smiled at the sight. Things had started regaining a measure of normalcy around here after two whole weeks of inactivity on deKiller's side. Two whole weeks since he had checked out of the hospital and checked back into his office-turn-apartment, thinking that maybe he could finally go back to playing poker and not being able to pay the bills. After so much excitement in his life, running screaming away from creditors was as normal to him as peeling potatoes – he was fearless in the face of bankruptcy now.

Of course, being fearless of bankruptcy did not automatically immune him to being afraid when Miles showed up one day on his doorsteps announcing in his court voice that "As of today, I hereby lawfully declare Miles Edgeworth a resident of this...Den for the protection of Phoenix Wright." and promptly walked pass a dumbstruck Phoenix. He had somehow managed to sound sweet and obnoxious in the same sentence.

So alright, he thought, having Miles around wouldn't be so bad, if you discounted the fact that he'll probably run around the place with a vacuum cleaner – or worse, make Phoenix do it – and it'll be fine, since Miles hadn't exactly brought much with him. Or so he thought, until a moment later, the bell rang again and a red-faced Gumshoe greeted him from behind a mountain of luggage stacked up on what looked like one of those trolleys they used to carry customer's luggage in hotels. Of course, it turned out it WAS one of those, since Miles borrowed in from Gatewater, right across the street.

Gumshoe had wheeled the things into the office, then throw down his own shabby amount of luggage wrapped up in of his old tattered clothes.

For the rest of the day, the office was a frenzy of voices – most notable of all his own voice shouting at the top of his lungs that no, he didn't want roommates, and yes, that is a fridge, not an icebox -SHUT UP- and will you please stop removing all my things, Gumshoe and putting Miles' there, and wait a second lemme get that door-- WHAT THE HELL? A PIANO, EDGEWORTH!???

Still, it had all been for his sake, as Miles had explained with an uncaring flick of his hand. Edgeworth was there to make sure that if deKiller confronted him, he would be there to lend a hand. And of course Gumshoe was there because he's the only police officer that was willing to work overtime all week long with no extra pay to protect Phoenix, as well as supply an additional absorbent surface for bullets if Shelly deKiller decided to stop by and stage a shootout.

The whole thing DID leave a phobia of doorbells on Phoenix's part though. Doorbells never seem to bring anything but bad news, he thought wryly as he pulled open the door.

"Hi, is this um, Mr. Wright?" The mailman was carrying a large package wrapped in course brown paper and tied with strings in a cross manner – like your typical, everyday package.

"Yeap, that's me."

"Okay, this package's been sent to you sir, if you'll please sign here..." He handed some forms to Phoenix, which he signed and returned, and the package was handed to him. He shut the door and carried it back to the makeshift living room everyone was nestled in.

"So, who got extra luggage sent in again?"

"If I had wanted to send luggage to this place, I most definitely would not have filled in your name." Edgeworth said. Gumshoe nodded in agreement. Diego nodded in approval.

"So what is it, daddy?" Trucy hopped down from the coffee table she was sitting on. "Open it up?"

"Uh-huh..." He placed it on the floor and sat beside it. It didn't have any sort of identification on it, and he said so. Miles immediately snapped up from where he was reclining.

"Do you think it's from _Him_?" he frowned. "Maybe we should get someone from the department to check it out first before you open it."

"I guess. But do you think he'd really send it this way if it was something really dangerous? I mean, I've worked with him and he just doesn't seem to use this kind of...methods. Kind of messy." Phoenix scratched his head. "Even if we wanted though, it's Sunday. Most, if not everyone from the precinct won't be there. We would have to wait for days for the result."

"Well, I rather wait for days than to have today as my last day." Miles got up to kneel beside the package, flipping it around to gauge it's weight and to see if it had any noticeable shape. "We're not entirely clear on the whole situation yet. He might not have acted, but that doesn't mean he can't start now."

"Bah! You worry too much! A man has to take risks now and then!" Diego chipped in, blowing the steam off his Godot blend #107.

"Yes, just like how you, manly man that you are, risks dying of caffeine overdose everyday of the week. Now tea, on the other hand..."

"Okay, okay, let's not get into that right now. " Phoenix interrupted, knowing that Diego and Miles can go hours at the whole Is-tea-better-for-you-or-coffee issue. "The point is, we can't have someone examined it. And we can't exactly throw it in the forensic lab to await their return. If it turned out to be something like a time bomb, it could explode and blow up the whole lab."

Gumshoe seems to ponder this for a minute, waggling his eyebrows up and down. "Uh...But I dunno, isn't that kind of better than having us blown up?"

"Maybe, but if it DOES blow up the lab, you can be sure ALL of us will be eating instant noodles for the rest of our life. As for you, detective, you'd probably be biting the dust. Literally. " he added, just to get it through his head.

It worked, the mention of salary always did. "Oh, uh, okay, pal! I got you!"

"Hmmmmmmmmmmm...." Beside him, Trucy was tilting her head and staring at the package with an expression equal parts diabolical and cunning. She looked at him and smiled.

"Daddy, I think I have an idea."

* * *

Gumshoe stood in the middle of Phoenix's makeshift living room with an extremely nervous expression on his face.

"Don't worry, detective, we'll mourn you."

"Go out with a bang! Like a man!"

"It's okay Mr. Gumshoe, if you disappear, I'll pull you out of my panties!"

Miles had himself an inner laugh as he watched the rest of them, along with him, inched towards the wall for safety, away from Gumshoe, who they had all unanimously appointed as the Person To Open The Package. And of course, Gumshoe couldn't refuse, because he never stood a chance against the barrage of reasons pouring from all of them clamoring that he would be the best candidate to open the package.

Of course, Miles was still worried about the package. Ideally, he would have pulled some strings to get the forensics team onto the job, but Phoenix's argument was not without reason, and even though it pains him to say it, he didn't want innocent people to be dragged into the mess and got blown into bits because he was a coward. Of course, Gumshoe opening it wasn't exactly a fool-proof way of dealing with it – on the contrary, it was actually very dangerous. But somehow, the pass week had relaxed him a little – he wasn't that pent up or stressed any more, and he found himself being more wistful. More optimistic.

Maybe being around Phoenix was therapeutic.

Gumshoe on the other hand, obviously disagreed with the notion. But perhaps he should receive a reward for that fool bravery of his.

"Look, detective, if you do it, and live, I'll put in a word for you to get your salary raised back, alright?"

This clinched it, and Gumshoe looked at him with a blazing sort of gaze, going "Alright, sir!"

He tackled the parcel, peeling the brown paper off it to reveal a box.

Then the box went away too, and all was left was a black, squarish metal casing with a green light in the middle.

He didn't recognize exactly what it was, but it didn't take a genius to figure out what it could be. A tremor ran down his spine. Beside him, Trucy gasped and grabbed onto Phoenix's shirt. Even Armando seemed to understand how serious the situation was – he put down his coffee cup.

"Ah, looks like we're really going out in a bang, huh?" he said. He righted his mask.

"Daddy, is that...what I think it is?"

Phoenix had gone dead silent, his face was expressionless. Everyone stood there in silence,even Miles, as though waiting for him to say something, to panic, or shout, or anything – like a gunshot to mark the beginning of a race, perhaps against time.

His tongue darted out a little to wet his lips, but his eyes were motionless, staring straight at the black casing.

"Everybody out."

That sent everyone straight into a frenzy – Armando immediately grabbed onto Trucy and pulled her towards the doorway, Trucy screaming a high pitched scream that she wanted to stay with her daddy, hitting out at Diego – Gumshoe went into panic mode, and started running around in circles. Phoenix remained standing there.

"Wright." He grabbed onto Phoenix's arm. "We have to get out of here, now."

"No, I can-I can try to defuse it. Or something. Maybe I can find somewhere to throw it into--"

"You're not thinking coherently, Phoenix, that thing could explode at any minute. We don't even know if it's timed or if it's gonna blow right now. We have to get out of here, _NOW_ PHOENIX!" He added in a shout when all Phoenix would do is stand there and stare at the box.

"But I'm the reason it was sent here! I-if it hurt anyone I'm never going to forgive myself," he added in a whisper - his arm jerked under Miles' clutching hand, a spasmodic reaction of his body.

"And it won't hurt anyone if you just -DETECTIVE, CAN YOU PLEASE GET OUT OF THIS ROOM RIGHT NOW? - leave. _Now_." He started tugging at his arm. He HAD to get that fool out of here – that idiot seemed to have gotten some stupid idea in his head that he could somehow do something about the – the word sent another chill down his spine – bomb.

"But we don't know how powerful the bomb is – It could blow the whole damned building _down_!" Having made a decision, Phoenix made a mad rush at the bomb, and Miles had barely any time to restrain him, holding onto his shirt with all his nails biting into it.

"STOP, THAT PHOENIX WE HAVE TO--"

_click._

"--get...get out."

Funny how you can be shouting, and something so silent can still be heard. The green colour had turned red and started flashing ominously, and even though it was afternoon and the room was well lit, it glowered over the room, turning it red as it flashed in a steady beat.

"_...SHIT_."

This time he didn't waste any time trying to talk sense into Phoenix, who was still rooted onto the spot. He had to move. _Now._

He pulled Phoenix with him as he threw himself towards the door, one hand twisted into the fabric of his shirt and his other flailing at the door – then clutching both, he fell into the hallway outside – just in time for the door to slam shut and a resounding blast announced itself from the other side of the wall. The shockwave was so tremendous that it sent the both of them -wall in between or not – crashing into the hallway's wall.

The last thing he knew was a thud as he dropped onto the ground and Phoenix's stunned face beside him.

* * *

"Uncle Miles, are you okay?" Someone was shaking him. Someone small, maybe a kid.

He wanted to slap the person.

"Uncle Miles?" That someone was shaking him again.

"G-go away." he croaked. This someone was starting to annoy him. Can't she/he tell that he was having a headache from... From what? Had he been drinking?

Miles groggily tried to open his eyes. His head was pounding like a boom box turned on maximum volume. Was this how Phoenix had felt when he fell from the ceiling?

Wait, Phoenix?

_Phoenix!_

He struggled into a sitting position, nearly knocking Trucy over in the progress.

"He's okay!" She squealed down the hallway. "How's daddy, uncle Diego?"

Armando's head poked from around the corner. "He's fine! Just a tiny dent in an otherwise shiny forehead!"

Some scuffling was heard.

"OUCH! CUT THAT OUT, DIEGO, THAT _HURTS!_" Phoenix's voice hissed.

Miles breathed a sound of relief. If he could be shouting that loud, he obviously was okay. He looked around to survey the extent of the damage to the place.

From what he COULD see, the hallway itself wasn't damaged much, further down a little, where the door to the room was, he could see that the door had been blown completely off it's hinge and was now lying in two pieces. It was splattered all over with drops of red.

He gasped, turning at Trucy. "Why is there that red...colour? Did someone- Did someone not make it out in time?"

Phoenix and Diego was accounted for, so did that mean Gumshoe-- he crumpled a little at the thought. _But he got out! He saw him! Was there another explosion?_

"Don't worry uncle Miles, everyone's okay. Uncle Diego, daddy and the detective are all in the other office."

"I...I see." he breathed out shakily. "Then what are those stains?"

"I don't know, we haven't had time to check it out. Daddy only just woke up, and the detective is still out. Uncle Diego said it'd be better to check it out when you guys are up too."

_Why hadn't Diego notice the red splotches anyway?_

He nodded wheezily, the pulled himself up. "I think..I think I'll check it out."

"Will you be okay?" She frowned up at him.

"I'll be fine."

He shakily stumbled down the hallway with Trucy looking after him with a worried expression. His whole body hurt, but he wanted -no, _needed_ to find out what had happened and what were those stains. He never liked surprises in the first place – and if these were the kind of surprises deKiller had, he wasn't sure he wanted any more.

He knelt down and put a finger into the red stains. It was sticky and wet._ Paint?_

He stared in wonder at the red paint – yes, it was definitely red paint – but why on Earth would there be red paint here. He turned around and looked into the room – it answered his question.

What formerly had been a cheerful, albeit crammed and uncomfortable room had been transformed into a sea of red – or red paint, to be precise. The walls, the furniture – even the television was covered in a coat of heavy, sticky paint. The only exception was the window paint that had partially slid off it and the the black casing sitting in the middle of the room– or at least, what remained of it anyway. Most of it's outer part was now embedded on the wall as shrapnel. The only thing left was a tiny card stuck in part of the bomb's core.

Miles didn't even have to look to know what it was – it was obviously deKiller's trademark card – but he walked towards it and bent over to pick it up anyway. He didn't know why he did it, but he felt propelled to.

Sure as sure can be, it was a pink shell printed on white card. Except on it, was written two words in slanting black writing : _"Without Prejudice"_

"What does that mean?" a voice beside him asked. He looked. It was Phoenix, standing beside him with a solemn expression.

He looked down at the card.

"I don't know."

They both stared out at the window, where most of the paint had slipped off, revealing a surprisingly clean glass and a clear day outside.

"But if I were to guess?" He looked up at Phoenix and smiled. "I think it means...We're forgiven."

Phoenix slipped his hand into Miles, and they stood there, holding the card between them and looking out at the ordinary, nothing-special sky.

Everything was okay.

That was all they needed to know.

* * *

Opposite the building, in a room that years ago had housed one Redd White and April May, Shelly deKiller snapped his telescope shut with a defining click. Well, that went well, he thought, and threw the remote he had been holding on the table.

It had been Shelly's idea of a pun of sorts, to blow a bomb filled with paint in Phoenix Wright's house. He had thought long and hard about it, and had decided that as long as he was a deKiller, he wouldn't taint it by being dishonourable and going back on his word. Yet he didn't want to kill Wright – he had a charm about him that made him easy to like, and he was not a bad person, even if he DID went back on his word – so he had decided that he WOULD punish him, just not in the conventional manner - and so he had sent him the bomb and made sure that they had enough time to get out of the way. Even if it had hit, it probably wouldn't have killed them anyway. They'll just be...very red.

Now that the bomb had exploded and left Wright's living room a mess though, he had something else to do : DeKiller had to die. Rather, the name had to die. He had come to that decision when he was done considering the whole mess. The name had never done any good for anyone, but it would now.

He looked at the "will" he had prepared, a document stating that all of the money in his official deKiller bank account would be surrendered to a charity association, and felt a stab of self-doubt.

This was what he had spent his whole life achieving. That, and the deKiller honour's preservation. Was it right, what he was doing?

No, that was not the question. Rather, would he regret it?

He put the paper down, then look back across the street at the two men standing side by side, looking up at the sky and he felt the urge too, to look up at the sky.

And that was when he decided – because of Miles Edgeworth and Phoenix Wright, and the way their hands met and their face had a contented smile curled on it. In a sudden rush, he took the document and put pen to paper, signing his name there.

The killer would rest.

* * *

Note : Yes, this IS the last chapter. But I think I'll make an epilogue though, to clear things up a little. I could include everything in this chapter, but I've a fondness for this kind of endings, in case you hadn't notice. So yes, in a way, I lied. Again. (I need to start making my mind up properly before saying something.)


	9. Epilogue

Note : A slightly OOC'd Trucy, as well as suggestiveness.

Note 2 : I don't know why I did this, other than it was fun to do. Originally I meant to put in what Char wanted but uh...Well, I'm a master of not being able to keep my promises so...Yeah, it came out like this. Sorry x_x

* * *

**Epilogue**

Phoenix's office was deemed shortly afterward to be one hundred percent inhabitable – if you liked paint smells and paint stains and paint all over you, that is. So Trucy and Phoenix became homeless, and they needed a new place to live.

"Don't look at me." Was Miles' reaction. There was no way on Earth he was letting that messy excuse for a defense attorney into his house. And...he added slyly, if he wanted to move in, it would have to wait until they had went beyond having a date under a tree in the local park, sharing burgers on a picnic cloth.

So Miles and his stupid, burgundy, stuck-up house was out of the equation, and he turned to his second choice.

"Material things are the roots of all free will – they weigh the man down." Diego had answered. In other, more coherent words, it means that he was broke and homeless too.

So they, all three of them had turned to the only person without a backbone strong enough to resist their request : Detective Gumshoe.

"W-wait, a second, pal! Hey, don't touch that, that's a gift from Maggey!' he had shouted at them, when they had moved in. Trucy looked at him with a sweet, beguiling smile.

"Yes, Mr. Detective?"

"U-uh..."

"Is there a problem?" She fluttered her eyelashes a little, and Phoenix could barely suppress his laughter. That girl wasn't just a pro at magic tricks, she was a pro at twisting people around her finger when she wanted to be too.

"U-uh..Nothing, nothing at all, pal." came the good detective's weak answer.

And so they moved in, and all was well...At least, for the adults.

* * *

Trucy woke up after a nap she took after school and looked out of the window. The sky was already rapidly turning the colour of cobalt, with streaks of remaining orange rapidly fading away on it's upper crust.

She cursed in a way not befitting her tender ages (and would surely earn her a spanking from daddy if he heard) and ran out of the tiny room, feet going pat pat pat on the rough wooden panelling.

"Uncle Diego! Why didn't you wake me up!?" She yelled. Silence answered her. Where was he? He was supposed to be bringing her to the Wonder Bar for her show! At the rate he's forgetting her, she'd be fired before the end of the month.

She grabbed the phone and jabbed Diego's cell number.

"Hello?"

"Uncle Diego! Where are you!? The show's going to start in – she glanced at the clock – in an hour!"

"Yes, yes, that's the thing kitten, I went out to buy some groceries since the larder's all eaten up and I bumped into --"

'I hope for your sake, Uncle Diego, that you did not abandon me and my magic to hit on a girl..." She warned, working herself up into a huff to tell him what she thought of his behaviour.

"-- No no, you don't understand kitten, that's the thing, the girl just dragged me off the streets for –HEY HEY HEY, WATCH IT, HANDS OFF THE MASK, LADY – for what she says is SCIENTIFIC INVESTIGATION!!" he shouted. The background sounded like he was in the middle of a battle zone. "L-Look, I'll get back to you later okay?"

_Beep._

He hung up. Trucy growled in frustration. One of these days, she'll turn him into a frog, she swore. As soon as she finds out how to do that, that is.

But turning Diego into a frog would not solve her present dilemma, so she dialed Gumshoe's number instead.

"Detective Gumshoe on duty, sir!"

"Are you, Mr. Detective? On duty, I mean."

"Oh, is that you, Trucy?" his loud voice was cheerful, as usual.

"Yeap, it's me."

"Oh well, uh, I'm not exactly on duty right now, but it sounds like I'm working when I say that – in case the chief calls in – ya know, pal?"

"Oh um. Okay. So it'll be fine if you come home and take me to the bar right?"

"Huh? Sorry, pal, but you know I can't do that. I'm still technically working right now." He paused, and she could practically see his eyebrows going up and down. "Why can't you go alone anyway?"

"Daddy says I'm not allowed to go alone."

"Oh, but I really can't do it, I need to get back to work, or Mr. Edgeworth will cut my salary again. See ya later, Trucy!"

_Beep._

That's going to be two frogs for the Wright Talent Agency. No choice then, she'll call her daddy.

"H-Hello...?" came his voice. It sounded raspy.

"Daddy?"

"Y-yeah, what is it Trucy?"

"Uncle Diego and Mr. Gumshoe can't take me to the bar, and it's going to start in an hour. Can you come home and take me to the bar?"

She heard someone – was that uncle Miles? -- chuckling.

"Well can you, Phoenix?"

"Cut that out, Miles!" he hissed. She could hear a lot of shuffling.

"U-um. Look, I'm busy right now okay, Trucy. Listen why don't you skip work today? It's just one performance."

"B-but I already skipped two days this week! First it was because it was your turn and you disappeared off with uncle Miles, then Mr. Detective got lost and I was late!" She said, exasperated.

"It's just –- ANOTHER DAY!" his voice turned into a shout halfway through the sentence.

"Daddy? What's going on?"

A moan, then the phone went back to beeping.

Trucy huffed and slammed the phone back onto the table, in a bad mood, and went to switch on the television.

Living in peace was all very nice, but sometimes the adults really need to shape up, she thought, and put on a recording of the Gramarye Troupe performing.

Oh well.

* * *

Yes, this really is the end. I'm not going to come up with another chapter and tell you that's The End, Part Two. I think. Finally done with this story, which took me like, uh 9 days I think. So now that I'm done, I think I'll write something christmassy. Before that though : Christmas shopping!


End file.
